


People Like Us

by Stephquiem



Series: Brain Trust [1]
Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Depression, F/M, Interspecies Relationship(s), M/M, Multi, Panic Attacks, Polyamory, Self-directed biphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-09-09 21:37:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 39,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8913334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stephquiem/pseuds/Stephquiem
Summary: A Yeerk finds sympathy for his host as his disillusionment with the Empire grows.





	1. Ben

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in an Alternate Universe where the Animorphs do not exist--or at least don't have morphing powers/an impact on this story.

My name is Priton Six-Two-Four.

The first sensation that I experienced, as I stretched myself through the ear canal and out, to touch the brain of my first host, was _panic_. Fresh, cold panic. It was like an electric jolt through me as I persevered further, accessing more of the human's mind, greedily sinking into crevices, trying to take control as quickly as possible to make it  _stop._

Breaths came out in short gasps. The heart pounding in my ears was the first thing I heard. The first movement, before I even opened my new eyes, was to unclench the still mostly immobile fists. They had been held so tight that I could feel marks in the skin where fingernails had dug in. I forced the body to relax, forced my breathing to even out. And then I opened my eyes. 

The thing about the Sharing is that, even though its entire point is to draw in voluntary controllers, not every person who comes into that little room where they become a "full member" leaves with an extra passenger voluntarily. Sometimes the realization of their mistake comes too late. Once you agree to become a full member, there's no real going back.

The voice that was screaming at me in my head as I was released wasn't giving me a headache because he _wanted_ me there. He was a twenty-two year old kid, a college senior fast approaching the unknown realm of life after graduation. His family--all two of them--didn't live nearby, with his younger sister off at school up north, and the aunt who'd taken them in after his parents' deaths living just far enough away that he couldn't see her regularly. Soft-spoken,  _shy,_ he was liked well enough, but he wasn't the sort to attract a group of friends easily. He was lonely. The Sharing was a way for him to find friends. They promised to help him find a job when he graduated.

If nothing else, at least it couldn't be said that those promises hadn't been kept. He was finishing up his student teaching gig, and it was always useful to have our people in schools--for recruitment. For providing cover. And, of course, he would never be lonely again.

 That first, intoxicating moment of sensation--sight, sound. More to touch than I'd ever had at my disposal. The taste of the cold air of that room on my tongue. The smell of sweat and panic in my nostrils. That first moment's supposed to be like magic--wondrous and impossible to describe with the right words. Like you've been buried underground your entire life and suddenly the ground opens up above you and the light shines in at last. 

<No! No!>

I wanted him to shut up. Go away, little human. I wanted peace in my own head--isn't that the point of voluntary controllers? They don't cause you trouble. They're supposed to behave and let you do whatever it is you need to do. At least that's what I assumed. That's what people said, more or less. But this host wasn't voluntary, and I couldn't help feeling a little like I'd been cheated there. Like they'd given me a defective host. Most hosts are involuntary--I knew that. I wasn't stupid--but expectation's a funny thing. You know you're being assigned somewhere, and then it isn't what you expected, what you wanted. But a body's a body, I guess. Only an idiot complains out loud if it's not exactly what he thinks it's going to be.

The body had a name. His name was Ben.


	2. Trash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warning: Suicide mention.

Despite what I might have thought in the beginning, I soon had what I wanted anyway. Quiet disapproval was better than screaming, anyway, and that was mostly what I got from Ben. Not that it was _entirely_ quiet, of course. But my host became the background noise in my head, like a song that occasionally pops up to linger for awhile before fading again. Which was just fine, because outside our shared head space, I had more than enough to deal with.

For someone so quiet, Ben had a shockingly disorganized life. His tiny apartment could technically be called a one bedroom--or at least, the landlord was calling the extra room with the walls that didn't quite go all the way to the ceiling a "bedroom." Mostly so he could charge more for it. I wondered if that was legal, briefly, then decided I didn't actually care. 

The first thing I set out to do was to clean the place. It wasn't a pig sty, but it seemed like someone had made the occasional half-hearted attempts to clean before giving up. "Cleaning" mostly involved clearing away the clutter. Which was easier said than done. The kitchen table was mostly covered in life debris--papers, a plastic grocery bag with the receipt still in it but no actual groceries, a library book that was past due--my fault, technically--an empty tupperware, and, seemingly just to send me into a panic of my own, a stack of bills that effectively stopped me from trashing the whole pile. The bills turned out to have already been paid, but it only really proved the point that most of it was junk. "Why would you keep this?" I asked aloud, holding up an electric bill. It was meant to be a rhetorical question. I could see the reason well enough on my own.

<I forgot about it.>

I raised an eyebrow. The "voice" was defensive, but it was still more than I'd expected. I'd mostly felt compelled to break the interminable silence of the apartment. We got all of two channels on the television, the only radio in the apartment came from the alarm clock next to the bed. It was talking to myself or hoping the neighbor's dog would start barking again.

I discovered quick enough that I could goad Ben into saying something once in awhile by messing with the "order" of his life. Not that it was imperative that he talked, or anything. But I was bored. It amused me. And we were neither of us social creatures by nature, so when the desire to talk to someone did present itself, Ben was usually my only option.

 The only thing he seemed to have splurged on in his apartment were books. Granted, they were usually from the bargain bin of the used bookstore, but they made for fun material nonetheless.

"You know, if you didn't buy so many of these, you could probably use the money to buy a second bookshelf." There were little piles of books that wouldn't fit on the lone bookshelf scattered around the apartment. The television sat on a rolling cupboard that held a VCR and a few tapes, all of which looked about the same quality as his book collection--which, of course, carried over into whatever space wasn't filled with tapes. Pulling one from that pile, I waved it around, saying, "Look at this. Is that supposed to be a laser gun on the cover? Made by who, Milton Bradley? It looks like a toy." And this would go on, until either I got bored again, or I was rewarded with--

<What is _wrong_ with you? >

I just grinned, tossing the book haphazardly back where it had come from.

To be fair, not everything I did to my host was intended to drive him crazy. I did actually ignore him most of the time. But even when I thought I was being kind, Ben seemed violently disagree.

At the school, there was a fellow student teacher. Ben had known him _before,_ but they had not spent a great amount of time in each other's company. But that odd fluttery feeling humans seem to get when they experience attraction was present, and I thought. Well. Nothing was going to come of it, but I could briefly entertain anything to save me from a headache for awhile.

And so I sought out this man. Our lunch periods coincided--when there wasn't something to do during lunch, anyway, which there very often was--I would find him in the staff lounge. 

<What are you even doing?> Ben demanded one day as we were headed back from lunch. <He's mentioned an ex-girlfriend, remember?>

<So?> I didn't see how that was relevant.

Ben made an exasperated "noise." <I'm not gay.>

<I never said you were.> Again, I didn't see how this was relevant. Humans seemed to mostly have sex for recreation anyway--Ben, for example, was neither a virgin nor a father--so I couldn't really understand what a person's gender had to do with anything. I thought he was merely being stubborn and abandoned that. It was pointless, anyway, and the school year came to a close soon after, regardless.

There is a human saying--"be careful what you wish for." It's a little to apt for my liking.

Anna, Ben's younger sister, came down for graduation, and we, along with Ben's aunt Eileen, went out for dinner that night. It was probably the nicest meal I'd had in a human body, which is the only pleasant thing I could say about the meal.

"Oh, hey," Anna said, about half-way through the meal, when we'd exhausted most of the obvious topics of conversation. "They're opening a chapter of that club you were talking about a few months ago--what was it called?"

I swallowed the mouthful of spaghetti I'd been chewing, rifling back through Ben's memory to find what she was talking about. Sure enough, there was a brief mention of the Sharing from when he'd first started going. I could feel Ben's resentment as I answered, "The Sharing?"

"Yeah. They've got one of those by me now." Anna wasn't looking at me, but down at her plate now. "My roommate's thinking of checking it out and wants me to go with her. Are you still going to that thing?"

I opened my mouth to respond--to rattle off the script that was meant to be used for these sorts of things--but no sound came out. Instead, my lungs seized and for a few breathless moments, it seemed like my throat had squeezed itself shut. The force of it took me by surprise and it took several long seconds before I could reassert control, pushing back until I came up for air again, breath coming out in a hacking cough. "Fuck," I wheezed, reaching a shaking hand for my water glass. Ben might be desperate, but I was still stronger than he was. Mostly. 

Eileen patted me on the back, and Anna looked up from her food. "Go down the wrong way?"

My face screwed up into what was meant to be a smile, but didn't quite succeed. "Something like that," I said. Then I changed the subject. He wouldn't take me by surprise again, but even so, I didn't really want to die that day.


	3. Summer

Here's a secret: As time went on, I kind of liked Ben. I mean, he thought I was lower than scum, and that kind of put a damper on things, but other than that one fact, he was pretty all right. When I pushed, he pushed back. I liked that--it kept things from getting dull. There were other things, too, of course. I didn't give a rat's ass about human history, but Ben was passionate about it, and it was hard to ignore that. I couldn't ignore it, teaching it was, ostensibly, our job. For now, anyway. I tried to channel some of that passion in front of students, about whom Ben cared infinitely more than I did. When we looked a classroom, I saw twenty-some odd bratty teenagers I had to suffer. Ben saw... well, he also saw bratty teenagers, but apparently he appreciated them as _people_.

With school out for the summer, a long three months loomed ahead with little in the way of distraction. It took about a week for me to realize that I couldn't actually languish around the apartment for three months. For one thing, there was nothing to do there except read and watch soap operas on TV, neither of which sounded appealing. For another, there would be no money coming in until the fall. The only savings Ben had ever had in his life had been money from his parents' life insurance, and every penny of that had gone to college, and that hadn't covered it all anyway. The good news was that we'd probably starve before creditors started showing up, or before we got evicted.

Still, we were down to a sleeve of Ritz crackers and a quarter gallon of expired milk before I decided that contemplating the nutritional value of drinking vegetable oil straight was probably a bad idea. By that point, though, most places hiring summer help _had_ their help.

Which is how I ended up working at the Sharing's headquarters. In recruitment of all things.

Needless to say, any fondness I had for my host wasn't readily reciprocated. Though, as long as I wasn't actively recruiting people he cared about, Ben mostly kept his grumbling to a minimum. Mostly. Though, that said, it was surprisingly dull work that was more akin to marketing than anything else. Which I had no experience in whatsoever. My job was mostly clerical, which was fine, I supposed. It was relatively difficult to screw that up. "Office Lackey" wasn't the most prestigious position, but it was the perfect balance of "keeping busy" and "not very much responsibility"--truly, everything I ever wanted. It was probably little wonder that no one ever considered me for advancement in anything.

 The summer passed with interminable slowness. One day seemed to bleed into another. I might have lost all track of time completely if not for the clockwork-like feeding cycle. It at least let me know how much time was passing, even if half the time I couldn't be bothered to remember the date unless someone had a calendar handy.

Which was probably why, one day in late July, when Anna called I didn't think much of it. Ben's sister called frequently--to chat. To gossip, even though I rarely knew who she was talking about. To complain that I didn't call _her_. "Why when I know you're going to call eventually anyway?" This was apparently the wrong thing to say.

Things would have been easier if I made an effort to make my host's family Controllers. It would have made my life infinitely simpler--and less annoying in some respects--but I was also a great fan of the status quo. I liked being the botherer, not the bothered. I saw nothing suspicious or treasonous in that, even if I also wisely kept all this to myself. I was lazy, not suicidal.

After the usual small talk, Anna asked, in a tone suddenly turned serious, "Are you doing anything special for tomorrow?"

"No," I said automatically, without even thinking about it. "Should I be?"

There was a long pause--long enough that I started to wonder just what I'd forgotten. "Ben," Anna said slowly, in what I knew to be her _are you a fucking idiot?_ tone. "Tomorrow's the twenty-third."

Oh. _Oh_. Shit. I backpedaled quickly, saying something about how I meant I'd just planned to spend a quiet day at home, that I wasn't feeling up to much more than that.

I'd been in Ben a little over three months by then. Long enough to know that the twenty-third of July was the anniversary of his father's death. Five years ago now, in an accident, the summer before Ben's last year of high school. Technically we'd both forgotten. There were other things to think about, to focus on. It wasn't my job to care about these things anyway, except as far as keeping my cover went. 

Still. When we hung up, I stood there looking down at the phone for a moment, trying to formulate a thought. Something.

<Don't. Please.>

I slowly replaced the phone in its charger, then turned wordlessly and crossed the living room to the couch, where I fished out the television remote from where it had slipped between the cushions. I sat down, switched the TV on, and settled in to watch Maury Povitch continue his seemingly eternal search for the Father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, like a dope, I forgot to look up whether or not Ben actually had a paying job. It wasn't till I started writing this chapter that I thought that maybe I should ask a teacher friend if student teachers got paid.
> 
> They do not. (Or at least they don't here.) 
> 
> So. Uh. This story is AU in more ways than one. I'm sorry. I will attempt to fail less from here on out.


	4. Jenny

Humans really loved metaphors, didn't they? Sometimes I would think that they didn't even think about it, metaphors were so ubiquitous. Not that Yeerks never used metaphors, of course. We did, but it seemed to me, at least, that we used them less frequently. Perhaps because we had fewer senses, or because unhosted Yeerks had a smaller environment to draw inspiration from, I didn't know. I wondered if other species were the same? I had only ever had a human host, I didn't know. 

Humans liked to call coming to care for someone "falling for them." The more I thought about it, the more apt it seemed to me.

I "fell" twice. The second time was gradual, like falling asleep. The first time... the first time was like taking a swan dive off a cliff--incredibly stupid and probably suicidal.

The endless summer finally ended, and my time as an office lackey came to an end. School started again, and as long as the administration was mostly made up of my people, we were at least guaranteed steady employment and enough money to keep from starving. So, at least there was that. But that didn't mean I was done with the Sharing. I just moved from working in the office to being a "mentor"--the front line, so to speak, of recruiting the unsuspecting, the gullible and the desperate. Who thought I would be a good fit for that, I'll never know.

She was there because her roommate wanted to see what all the fuss was about, but didn't want to go alone. I happened to be sitting just behind them while we listened to Ardun Three-One-Six give the Sharing's spiel to the meeting. I think Ardun's approach probably worked very well for certain types. He was a lot more charismatic than most of the Sharing's leaders. He talked like a motivational speaker, wore his hair long, and looked like he couldn't be much more than thirty. I think his host was a youth pastor--a fact that would have explained the sudden influx of junior high-aged kids toward the end of September. Made sense, I guess. The church up the road had its youth group on Tuesdays. That meeting was on a Wednesday. It made Ben sick, but it was essentially what we were there for, too. Not that that probably helped.

Still, all that was to say, Ardun Three-One-Six was good if you wanted earnest enthusiasm. But he was also the sort of person who probably gave a little too much help to the idea that we were a cult.

"They really take themselves seriously, don't they?" The girl in front of me--the stocky blonde, rather than her more wispy-looking friend--turned sideways in her chair to address the girl next to her, so that I could see the arch of one skeptical brow.

The other girl laughed. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, I didn't think they'd be so intense."

"Oh well," the blonde said, leaning down to pick up her purse from the floor. "At least we can say we gave it a shot."

"Hey." I'd been leaning back in my chair, lazily contemplating how soon I could escape without looking bad--I had a stack of essays on the French and Indian War waiting for me in the car, thanks--and I thought I could at least make the barest effort. You couldn't get voluntary hosts if they didn't stick around, after all. I was helping. "Some of us get a little too into it, but we're not all wacko, I swear." 

The blonde turned around to look at me. "Oh yeah?" But she was smiling at me, apparently amused about something. "How long have you been here?" When I told her about six months, she widened her eyes and asked, mock-seriously, "And did it change your life?"

"Totally," I replied, matching her tone.

She stared at me for an extra second, then laughed. Her friend still looked nonplussed. I soldiered on, anyway. "I mean, we do good stuff, and some people--" I nodded meaningfully at Ardun, who was now holding court amidst a group that was apparently more impressed than these two--"just take it kind of seriously, I guess. Their heart's in the right place, honest." I shrugged. "But you know, you get out of it what you feel like putting in. Most things are like that." I stood. "If you want to come back, I promise we won't make you spend all the time with the crazies." Most knew how to tailor what they said to their audience, anyway.  
  
"Thanks," the wispy brunette cut in, grabbing her friends arm and pulling her towards the exit. "We'll think about it. Come on, Jenny."  
  
The blonde--Jenny--followed, though she smiled back at me, saying, "Yeah. Nice meeting you..."  
  
"Ben," I supplied. "See you around."  
  
The next meeting, Jenny came back. Her friend did not.


	5. Trouble

I made the mistake one day of telling Eileen that I was free on a Saturday morning and got roped into driving her to a doctor's appointment while her car was in the shop. While I was stuck in the waiting room, trying not to look awkward and inconspicuous as the only guy in the room except for one old enough to be Ben's grandfather who seemed to be waiting for his wife, I flipped through magazines for something to do. I don't know if the awkwardness was because Ben was uncomfortable or if it was because things like that felt very human--body maintenance, but body maintenance for things I didn't naturally have, or that my host didn't even naturally have in this case--and though I wouldn't admit it to anyone but myself, I didn't like dealing with it. At least Ben's issues I could ignore without it killing us.

The reading options in the waiting room were health magazines--yeah, no--or tabloids, which seemed like the safer option. The one I picked had an advice article, and since we ended up being stuck there for a while, and anything was better than the article speculating whether or not Britney and Justin were dating, that was what I ended up reading. The main take away that I got out what I read, before Ben's aunt thankfully emerged again, was that you shouldn't compare someone new to whoever came before. They meant romantic relationships, but I think it probably applies to others. 

In my defense, I couldn't really help it. I was, by the standards of my own species, young--an adult, technically, but a young and inexperienced one. Excepting the pool ship on which I was born, and which I'd only seen for a few short minutes during training, I'd never been past Santa Barbara's city limits. I didn't have a host's experience to draw on, as Ben was also a young, inexperienced adult. He'd ventured a little farther--he'd been all the way to Anaheim, which according to the map in our classroom was not really that far in the grand scheme of things. The point was, I had very little to work with. Comparisons were inevitable.

When Jenny started coming to Sharing meetings, she was a little baffling to me. Whereas Ben, I think, was exactly the sort of person the Sharing tried to rope in--the lonely introvert who thought joining would help him make more friends and fill a void that, if we'd been a legitimate organization, we'd probably have told him we couldn't do completely. We were not equipped--Jenny just... was not. 

If Jenny had major hang-ups, they weren't so overt, I guess. Some people are like that, apparently. But at any rate, she wasn't shy. 

"Hey!" A voice carried across the room to where I was fighting a losing battle against a vending machine that had taken my money but refused to give up my chips. The true life struggles of an alien invader. I turned to see a figure I recognized moving towards me, waving. "Ben, right?" 

"Yep. Nice to see you back," I said, surprised, frankly to see her again. Surprised, but not displeased, because hey, I'd did something right. Everybody needs a win once in awhile. "I guess we didn't scare you off, huh?"

She smiled. "Nah, I figured I'd give you guys another shot."

Maybe because I was the only person she knew there, maybe because we seemed to get on, maybe because the stars aligned and Jenny arrived at the same time that whoever was doling out assignments decided I should make myself useful, but I found myself with my first "mentee." And the comparing started immediately.

Where Ben was a homebody who rarely seemed to leave his apartment if he didn't have to, Jenny breezily told me that she had to leave that first meeting a little early to meet friends. The next meeting, she told me a funny anecdote about her roommate and her roommate's girlfriend, as casually as she might have mentioned the weather. Obviously, I didn't care that Jenny's friend was a lesbian anymore than I care that Ben was bisexual. It didn't make a difference to me. But we were allowed to talk about it, and that was something new. Humans, I decided, were mind-boggling creatures who needed to make up their damn minds about what they were sensitive about. When I thought I figured it out, someone else would prove me wrong, and I didn't want to think about it that hard.

The first time I said something that made Jenny laugh, it took me by surprise. And then I wanted to do it again. And again, if I could. You get real used to silence after awhile. A host's thoughts, once you get used to them, become background noise that you don't have to pay a whole lot of attention to. Especially when it's mostly how miserable they are. I liked to goad Ben, but it was still mostly just me. 

Everybody's got their vices, you know? Ben always prided himself on the fact that, at least if things were bad, at least he didn't drink--soda was cheaper than beer, anyway--and he didn't do drugs. He didn't think it in such plain terms, but I think he was worried about how good it'd feel. Still, he wasn't immune to self-medicating, he just did it in the form of paperback mysteries and cheesey sci-fi and thick history books with the bargain price stickers half-scratched away.

Point is, we've all got  _something._ And maybe the idea that someone else actually enjoyed my company was a little addicting.

<You're disgusting,> Ben told me one day, as we watched Jenny head out after a meeting.

<What'd I do now?> I asked absently, like I couldn't see what he meant right there in his mind. Habit. When I wanted someone to talk to and Ben was my only option, I asked questions I knew the answers to. It didn't do much unless he was worked up enough to not realize what I was doing. And sometimes it's easier to lie to myself if neither of us acknowledges what's happening.

<You're just going to make it worse when it's over,> Ben said, apparently on to me this time around. <God. Why are you such an asshole?>

<It's my only talent,> I said, dryly, turning away now that the doors had closed behind Jenny. Ben didn't say anything else, and I didn't bother explaining myself because there wasn't anything I could say. He gave me credit for being a better actor than I really was. It didn't matter anyway, did it?

* * *

"Make sure you read section four for tomorrow," I called out as the last class of the day started filing out of the classroom. Some were already out in the hallway, eagerly retreating from another long day. Oh well. It was on the board. The lucky shits got to go home, while I was stuck there for a few more hours because I'd been roped into covering for the history club's advisor. I was kind so infrequently, why did it always backfire on me?

"They're just watching a movie," I'd been told. "Just pop it in, make sure no one breaks anything, and stay till the last kid leaves. No big deal." Right. I wondered if anyone would notice if I fell asleep as long as I kept my eyes open.

As I was packing away my things to go myself, and as nearly all of the students had vacated the room, one of the stragglers approached my desk. "Mr. Harrison? Can I talk to you for a minute? It's about the last test."

I peered up from my bag, which I was stubbornly trying to fit a grade book into, despite it apparently having grown in size somehow since I took it out that morning. "Sure," I said, forcing the grade book back out again. "What questions do you have?"

My favorite students, I'd decided, were the quiet ones. The ones who only talked if you called on them, and then only reluctantly. Amy--the girl standing across from me now--was one of those easily tolerable sorts of students who rarely spoke up, and didn't pretend she was a wild beast whenever given the chance to work with her friends. An ideal student for someone who was counting down the days until he didn't have to do this part of the charade anymore.

"Let's see," I said, flipping through the log to find where I'd entered the last test's scores. "I see you didn't do so great." That was putting it mildly. Her score was an eighteen percent.

"I know," Amy said, looking a lot less contrite than someone who was failing ought to have, I thought. "I was wondering if you could do something to fix that."

I sighed. It was only October, but it felt like I'd already had this conversation enough times for the entire year. "Well," I said, trying _not_ to sound exasperated at having to reiterate what I was sure I'd mentioned half a dozen times just that _week._ "There are always extra credit opportunities avail--"

But Amy was shaking her head. She looked over her shoulder at the only other student left in the classroom--her friend, I assumed, who was waiting for her, hovering near the door. Amy turned back to me. "I meant I was hoping you could fix the grade."

I waited a beat, expecting her to elaborate, but she just kept looking at me instead. "Like I said," I tried again, "there are plenty of--"

"Mr. Harrison," she said, a little less sweetly than before. "I'm only asking that you do your job."

I almost choked. "Excuse me?" Was this what they were getting at when they said it was the quiet ones you had to watch out for? "I'm trying to do that," I assured her.

She leaned forward over the desk, and I resisted the urge to lean away reflexively. "I meant do _your_ job, Priton Six-Two-Four."

Somehow, there's nothing quite as threatening as someone knowing your name when, until that moment, you had no idea they existed. 

I glanced up, toward the back of the room. The student there met my gaze with their own blank stare. Well then. "I see. I hadn't realized." Because I was not, in fact, a complete moron. Part of my job was keeping other people's cover. We all had better things to do than earnestly study the American Revolution, after all, and if that meant flubbing grades, well, it's not like anyone was going to call us out on our ethics. That was all fine and good. When they remembered to get me the memo on who I was meant to be looking out for. Disorganized as we were sometimes, it was only a matter of time before someone slipped through the cracks. 

Amy--or whatever her name was now--smiled brightly at me. "I thought it had to be a misunderstanding," she said, as though it was all resolved. "You can just fix the grade then."

"I'll get right on that," I said, reaching over to unzip a pocket of my bag so I could root around in it for a pencil. When I finally held one aloft, she seemed satisfied that I was doing as she asked, and turned to leave, taking her silent friend with her.

<What a waste,> Ben said as the classroom door shut behind the pair. <She's a good kid.>

<Yeah.> There wasn't even time to enjoy Ben's surprise that I agreed with him, because as I glanced up at the wall clock, I saw that I was late. Great. They'd probably dissolved into anarchy already. I stuffed the pencil back in its pocket and, after looking down at the grade book one more time, shut it with a snap and zipped up my bag. The grade could wait. If I got to it at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that I have a [tumblr](http://jewlikeruth.tumblr.com/). It's not specifically Animorphs-related, but you're missing all of my great chapter summaries, which have thus far been mostly about how much of a jerk Priton is. I'm really selling this, aren't I.


	6. Expendable

The thing that I think most of the species we dealt with didn't understand, and maybe _couldn't_  understand, was that for a Yeerk, survival within the empire meant keeping your head down and following the pack. Controversial opinions about conquering other species might have been less rare than you'd think--maybe not _popular_ , but it stood to reason that not every dissenting voice got caught. The thing is, though, that as Yeerks, we're each just one of thousands. We're not important. We're expendable. There's always more of us to take the place of the odd few who might fall to their conscience. We can make more of us in larger numbers than any sentient species we've come across so far. If you want to stay alive, you keep your mouth shut. You do what you're told. You don't complain. And even that isn't always a guarantee.

Part of survival sometimes meant doing things that you wouldn't do on your own. As far as I was concerned, the invasion's success had nothing to do with anything I did or didn't do. I was lazy, but at least my laziness had never caused a disaster. No one had ever died because of my lack of action, which frankly was more than could be said for our vissers.

 I wasn't important, and didn't want to be, but that didn't mean I wasn't noticed. Which I guess was to be expected, considering where I worked. We'd well-penetrated the public school system. There were a few hold-outs in the faculty, but how long would that really last? And the students. Just because the human might seem like any other teenager didn't mean their Yeerk was any other Yeerk. It was hard to relax when you knew there was a sub-visser in one of your classes, judging your every move. Knowing that if you screwed up badly enough, you'd be replaced. Best case scenario, I ended up in the pool without a host. Worst case, I didn't. 

I really liked being alive, shockingly. And I liked having a host. Ben even, grudgingly, admitted--to himself, and therefore to me--that he'd rather not have to get used to "some other asshole." 

So I needed to behave. Be useful. Be a good little soldier and not complain and do what I knew was expected of me. And you know, when you got right down to it, doing what was expected of me wasn't that bad. You'd be surprised how fast you can get over something when the alternative might be death. Ethics don't mean much to the dead.

There was just one small wrinkle.

When you join the Sharing, there's a time limit, at the end of which you either submit or you get out. I never really got the point, to be honest. Enough of the hosts that chose to "submit" changed their minds when they learned what being a full member actually meant. If we were willing to compromise on the voluntary thing anyway, why did the rest matter? You'd still get those who just never came back before even reaching that point, but you'd increase the number of hosts gained overall. Clearly I was missing something.

Jenny's deadline, though, felt like a cloud following me. Each meeting was like a respite from my week--everything else might have been soul-crushing, but at least I had her company to look forward to. I was pathetic. If I hadn't worked this out myself, I had Ben to remind me. 

We had, what? A month? More or less, and then it was looming on the horizon. She would stay. I didn't have to ask her--and frankly, I was putting it off as long as I could--I knew. I was finally good at my job and if every job was like this one, spending the rest of my days blind, deaf and stuck in the pool didn't sound so bad. 

It was the last meeting before she'd have to make a decision. Even as I carefully danced around the topic, I reasoned with myself. This was how things worked. And fuck, this was best case scenario, wasn't it? Involuntaries were a pain in the ass, I was saving someone else the trouble. I was doing a service, and assuming I was right, I'd hardly be hurting Jenny at all, so really, there shouldn't have been a problem. And it wasn't like I'd never see her again.

Except it wouldn't actually be her.

"You weren't kidding when you said you were bad at this," Jenny said, laughing. She'd been trying to teach me to play ping pong. We'd reached the point where my serves no longer counted as health hazards, but I was pretty sure I'd only scored points because she'd taken pity on me. "I thought you were joking."

I smiled distractedly. "I'd never joke about something so important." If Jenny noticed my distraction, she didn't say anything. It might have been at least half the reason I'd lost--the other half being Ben's coordination--and I didn't want to talk about why. Like reminding her that this was our penultimate meeting would make her make the decision sooner. Maybe delaying the inevitable would buy me enough time to get used to the idea that I shouldn't have needed to get used to. Maybe. It was for the best. Better to get it over with now than later.

God, I was going to miss her.

"Do you want to get a coffee?" I blurted out suddenly. We'd replaced our paddles, and were headed out. Serendipitously, we'd been spared the lecture about how great the Sharing was, which might have made things better or worse, I wasn't sure. People were getting ready to go. Donning jackets--it was unseasonably cold that week, at least by southern California standards--and kids corralling near the doors to wait for their parents. Some being ushered out the door _by_ their parents. Logically, if those Yeerks didn't have fits of conscience, neither should I.

Jenny paused, one arm half-way inside her jacket, to look at me. "Now?"

"Sure," I said, shrugging, like this was all very normal. To be fair, it was eight-thirty at night. Weird time to go for coffee if you didn't have ulterior motives.

Thankfully, Jenny seemed to misinterpret just what my ulterior motives were, because she smiled, and said, "Okay."

The nearest coffee shop was two blocks away. Too close for comfort, personally, but when we entered, the only person there besides the barista was a man in the corner with a heavy looking laptop. We bought our drinks and I steered us toward the opposite corner.

We sat across from each other for a minute or two, sipping our drinks--decaf for Jenny since it was so late, and a hot chocolate for me. Ben could have slept through an earthquake--and probably had, now that I thought about it--but coffee tasted like sewage to me. Clearly I'd thought this through.

Finally, Jenny looked up as though she was going to say something, and I took that as my cue to begin. "I don't think this is working out."

She blinked at me for a second, before asking, "You don't think what's working out?"

"You at the Sharing," I said. I kept my face carefully blank, almost bored. Like this was a chore I had been assigned. "Sometimes people just aren't a good fit, unfortunately." It was counter to everything we ever said, but maybe she wouldn't call me on it. I could make up excuses. I'd have said anything I thought would work. 

Jenny didn't say anything for a moment. To her credit, she didn't _look_ like she was about to argue with me. Instead she started, "Is this because of--" but she cut off mid-sentence, instead peering at me as though the answer to her unasked question was written on my face.

I kept my expression passive. "Because of what?" 

"Never mind. Nothing." Before she looked away, I thought her expression might have been one of disappointment. But I also might have just wanted it to be.

I stood up, pushing back my chair. "Well, good luck with whatever you do next," I said. "It's really too bad this couldn't work out, but that's just the way it is sometimes."

Jenny rose, too. "Sure. Yeah. I understand." She offered me a tight smile. "Thanks for being honest, I guess."

I returned her smile, said goodbye, and headed out the door, my deed of utter stupidity done for the day.

When I reached my car, I sat for a moment with the engine off, while the overhead light slowly faded. People left of their own accord all the time, I assured myself. The odds of this getting back to anyone important were microscopic. Until we inevitably got her some other way, at least. But maybe I'd think of something by then.

I sat there long enough to watch her leave, to watch her car pull out of the parking lot. I leaned my head against the steering wheel, staring through the gaps at the dark console and wondering what the fuck I'd done.

<You did the right thing.>

I didn't respond. If Ben felt sorry for me, I'd truly sunk as low as I could go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I asked myself "did people have laptops in the late 90's" before remembering that I did. It weighed like 20 pounds, ran Windows 95 and was incapable of connecting to the internet, but it was mine, darn it. In a shocking turn of events, I used it to write fanfiction.


	7. Holidays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben, like his creator, grew up in an interfaith household. This is relevant information.

When life is uneventful, life is good. No one said anything, Jenny didn't come back, and eventually I could breathe easy again. I got a new mentee. This one worked out better.

A little before Thanksgiving, barely a week after the last, someone new was dropped in my lap. She was just a kid, probably in high school still, but you could tell something was off. The nervous way she hovered around the edges of the meeting. The slightly disheveled way she looked. The slightly desperate tinge to the questions she asked me. 

The Sharing isn't for everyone. And you know, someone should know better than to stick the troubled teens with someone like me, anyway. I'm not good at sympathy, even just feigning it. And with her gone, I didn't have to think about how much she reminded me of Ben.

* * *

 

Thanksgiving passed, and thankfully the most eventful thing that happened was Anna came down with her new boyfriend. I interrupted them in the middle of a fight out on the front porch as I was leaving, and never saw that guy again.

December holidays were trickier. Some things were simple--we didn't have room for a Christmas tree, Anna didn't expect me to invite her over, and told me at Thanksgiving that if I didn't mind, she wasn't going to make the trip home. Eileen was going somewhere with her friends and would be gone for most of Chanukkah. It wasn't like I'd have done anything anyway. But there was something uncomfortable about the idea of celebrating human religious holidays, too. They always seem to have a lot of emphasis on hope--at least the ones Ben had observed before I came along--and it all made me very uneasy. And anyway, Chanukkah was apparently about invaders getting booted or something, I don't know, regardless, that wasn't an idea I wanted to promote. To be fair, I hadn't observed any other holiday thus far, but I'd also had more distractions. 

Twelve days before Christmas, I left school and didn't go straight home. Instead I drove around until I found what I was looking for--a bakery that was still open. I bought a cupcake, the kind I knew he liked. Chocolate with vanilla frosting. The frosting had even been dyed his favorite color, blue, which I hadn't planned, but worked out anyway.

The only candles, it turned out, that were in the apartment were a few Chanukkah candles leftover from the year before. It looked a little ridiculous, this long candle poking out of the squat little cake, but it would have to do. I found a lighter in a kitchen drawer, lit the wick, and turned off overhead light, so there was only the glow of the candle. 

I didn't sing. It would have been a bit much. Instead, I said, "Happy birthday." Then I sat back, and waited.

It took a minute for him to realize. There was the little intake of breath, the widening and then focusing of the eyes. It was strange being on the other end of things, being a passenger in a body I thought of as mine. Being able to feel everything, but like in the way you might feel things through a pair of gloves, a barrier separating you from the rest of the world. I could feel the wood of the kitchen table beneath my hands as Ben pressed our palms into it, could feel the grit of days old dust under my fingertips. I could hear the hum of the fridge at our back. I could feel anxiety and excitement mixing in my gut, Ben's thrill at being in control, the knowledge that I could snatch it back just as quickly. All from far away. 

We stood there for a moment too long. I thought of telling Ben that we didn't have any aloe vera if he burned our fingers picking hot wax off his cupcake as the candle began to drip. I didn't. 

Finally, with no more fanfare, Ben blew out the candle. No wish. There was only one thing he wanted, anyway.

We stood there in the kitchen for a long, silent moment, watching the little white billow of smoke rise into the air. The only sound in that moment was breathing. For once, the silence wasn't suffocating. It felt different, like there'd been a shift. I wasn't sure when it happened, and it was more like mutual tolerance than anything, but it was a change nonetheless.

The shrill ring of the phone cut through the silence, causing Ben to jump in surprise. He turned our head to look at offending sound. I could read the name off the caller ID from where we stood. A better person than i might have felt like a monster at the longing twisting in our gut. I never claimed to be a good person, though. And there was a perfectly practical reason for why I shouldn't let my host talk to his sister, no matter how much he might want to.

I "sighed." <No funny business.>

"Okay." Ben's answer was quiet, like speaking too loudly would break the spell. He was reaching for the phone now, though, and I stifled the urge to stop him. Progress?


	8. Stockholm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short interlude.

_**Ben** _

"Voluntary" is a weird term, you know? There was this actor, one of those teen heartthrob guys, that they got to talk up the Sharing, to try and get people to join. He apparently became a voluntary controller because they said they'd help his career. Who knows, maybe they meant it, but since then he'd left that show he was on to do movies, and every movie he'd been in since joining up had tanked because they were boring or terrible or both, and I don't know, he started puberty or something and teenage girls moved on to the next heartthrob. 

Then there were those people who became voluntaries because they wanted to protect their families. They tried to cut deals. I don't know how well those worked. Probably not at all most of the time, but you could at least understand why they tried, you know? A noble, if incredibly misguided, sacrifice. It was a lot easier to feel sorry for them when things went to hell for them than people like that actor guy.

And there are people who, I think, have mostly given up and just accepted it. You see them all the time during feedings. They don't scream or cry or beg anymore. They march back and forth from the pool to the cages like good little slaves and they don't try to cause trouble. Maybe they've been in it too long, I don't know. It starts to wear on you after awhile, not having control. Trying to fight. It's exhausting. You're trying to fight an enemy who knows all your moves. Do you know how hard it is to make a decision and then act on it almost immediately? Split second actions are a thing, sure, but nobody can do them consistently, all the time.

I was starting to forget things. Little things, sometimes, like what brand of toothpaste I used to buy. In the beginning, I'd try to pay attention to everything, so that if I escaped somehow, I could go back to my normal life, a smooth transition. The longer we went, and the clearer it became that even if I could, somehow, escape, nothing would be normal again, the less I bothered. I saw what Priton pointed my eyes at. I heard what he listened to. But sometimes I'd try to recall something like the name of that English teacher we sat next to in faculty meetings sometimes, and it just wouldn't be there.

I was forgetting bigger things, too. Sometimes, when Priton was in the pool, I'd sit there and concentrate on remembering how to wiggle my toes. Like a paraplegic trying to learn to walk again. Trying to remember their shape, how the big toe on my left foot didn't look quite right after I broke it a couple years back. Sometimes I couldn't remember what socks I was wearing until I pushed back my pant leg to see one. But then I'd have to remember how to move my arms and sometimes I just couldn't do both in the time that I had.

I felt like I was slipping away, and I didn't know what to do about it. I didn't want to be grateful for anything he did, honestly, but sometimes Priton's efforts to be a pain in my ass felt like a lifeline. He was a remorseless asshole most of the time, but if I could talk back that meant I was still there. That was something. Maybe the thinnest of lifelines, but I'm not a big guy. Maybe it can hold me.

If I just give up, would that make me a voluntary? Is letting go the same as acceptance? Is Stockholm just a city in Sweden? I don't know.


	9. Recruitment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we return you to our regularly scheduled programming.

Humans have a saying. "Life goes on." The end of the world for one person isn't the end of the world for everyone else. And if you survived, it might not have actually been the end of the world, anyway.

You know, you'd be surprised what it turns out you're good at when you actually try. I didn't care any more now than I did in the beginning about recruitment, but when I started making a legitimate effort, I was actually good at it. Well, mostly. I didn't have the patience for sensitivity--if you wanted that, you were going to have a rough time with me as a mentor. But not everyone hit every time. The middle of the pack was exactly where I felt most comfortable. It was safe there. No one noticed if you turned people away because they made you feel this "guilt" thing. What was I supposed to do with that feeling? What purpose did it serve me. None. That should be the end of that, shouldn't it?

An invasion's a slow process, even one we seemed to be winning. A year into having a host, I didn't feel like anything had changed so substantially. The average grade in my classes went up, maybe. Almost two years in, it still felt incremental. Maybe it wasn't really, but it did seem to drag.

I stayed late at school that evening to see the spring play. Not exactly my ideal Friday night, but let's be honest, I didn't have anything better to do. It was about as exciting as expected, but at least I didn't have to spend the evening at home, where I still didn't have cable--though I'd figured out how to move the antenna in just such a way that we got a whole third channel. What an exciting day that had been--Ben had read all of the books and I never bought more, and my only other viable option was a stack of grading I wanted to pretend didn't exist for a night.

The play let out, and I followed the crowd as it spilled out of the auditorium and down the school's main corridor toward the exit. My pace was slow, to drag out that inevitable moment when I'd have to get in my car and return to reality and responsibility. People weaved around, I heard one annoyed sigh from someone who didn't get my memo until their path was blocked, and then I was outside, where I continued my meandering pace down the parking lot to where the car was waiting.

The parking lot was hardly empty by the time I finally reached my destination. There was a long line of cars waiting to get out as I passed them, and it extended well past my spot. As I stopped behind my car, I craned my neck to try to see the end of the line and sighed. Well, I wasn't going anywhere anyway. Just what I'd wanted. I started fishing around in my pockets for my keys when--

"Ben!"

I turned at the voice, and nearly dropped my keys. I hadn't seen Jenny in a year and a half, but there was a little thrill now at the sight of her waving and coming towards me. She was smiling, like we were old friends, which was unsettling when you usually thought you didn't have any friends at all, old or otherwise.

"Jenny," I greeted. "What are you doing here?" It came out sounding a little ruder than I meant it to, but in fairness, it _was_ a high school parking lot.

"Just picking up a friend," Jenny said, waving a hand toward the school entrance. I looked back that way, as though expecting to find someone following behind her, but there was no one except a few stragglers headed for their cars. "How've you been? It's been forever."

"I, uh, yeah. Fine." Why was her cheerfulness so disconcerting? I wasn't expecting her to be so pleased if I ever saw her again. I'd been hoping I _wouldn't_ see her again--I could only imagine the worst case scenarios. She got taken and someone figured out exactly what I'd done. She hadn't been taken, but still thought I was a jerk for how we'd parted. Maybe she did think I was a jerk, and was trying to make me uncomfortable as retribution. It's not like it wasn't working. "You?"

"I've been really great," she said, still smiling that confusing smile. "What have you been up to? Still in the Sharing?"

My uneasiness only grew at her question. "Yeah, still doing all that. You're, uh, not thinking of rejoining, are you?" 

Jenny laughed, and it sounded genuine enough that I felt my spine relax a little. "Oh, God, no. That ship's sailed, don't worry. I think you were probably right, it wasn't really for me." She rocked back on her heels, looking around. For her friend, probably, who still hadn't materialized, though the line of cars was slowly inching past us. "I've actually gotten involved with this other organization," she said casually. "It's not, like, a one-to-one comparison to the Sharing, or anything, but I was thinking it might actually be more your speed." She started digging around in her purse for a minute before unearthing what looked like a business card and handing it to me.

"Maybe I'll look into it," I said, pocketing the card without actually looking at it. I didn't have the time or interest in some do-gooder organization, but part of me was pleased that if Jenny did, she probably wouldn't have time for _other_ things.

Jenny beamed at me again before saying, "Well, I should let you get going. It was really good seeing you again, Ben." 

"Yeah. You too." I watched her head down the parking lot before I turned back to my own car, thinking that had been strange but at least it hadn't been a disaster. As I climbed into my car, I glanced at the rearview mirror and thought, for a second, that I saw Jenny's car pass by. I didn't see a second passenger, but surely I'd just missed it.

It wasn't until the next day, when I was sorting out my dirty clothes into piles to take to the laundry and emptying pockets of loose change that I actually looked at the card she'd given me. It didn't look too remarkable, to be honest. There was what I assumed was the logo--a silhouette of a human brain with the word "TRUST" imposed over it. Along the bottom was a phone number and an address to someplace a little outside of the city. There wasn't much to it, really. No names of contacts, or a slogan maybe. It was made out of basic, standard card stock. Not very compelling, frankly. I tossed the card aside, intending for it to land on the night stand. Instead, it hit the edge and bounced off, landing face down on the floor. Sighing, I leaned down to pick it up when I noticed there was very faint writing on the back. Squinting curiously, I scooped up the card and tried to hold it up so I could see better. After a fruitless effort, I turned on the bedside lamp and held the card up to it so I could better read what was written there. And then I dropped the card like it was on fire.

The back simply said "Peace." A perfectly innocuous message. Written in Galard.


	10. Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if it needs it or not, but on rereading the very beginning of this chapter, the imagery is kind of rape-y. So. Trigger warning, just in case.

Success can be hard to measure sometimes.

_"You can't do this! Please!"_

Do you measure it by how many new hosts we get total?

_"Ben! Help me!"_

Or do you measure it by how many hosts are still "voluntary" when they're being strapped down for infestation?

_"Ben!"_

'Cause let me tell you, I've forced down a lot of screaming heads. Sometimes there's a fine line with hosts, but it's usually not _that_ fine. 

I actually knew this one, which I think probably made it worse. She was an aide at the school. Nice lady. She always seemed to have snacks in her purse. She asked me if I wanted some skittles right before we went back to that room that seems to make people a lot less cooperative. I still had a handful of those skittles in my pocket when she stopped screaming and the room was replaced by the eerie silence that always means the person in that chair's carrying a new passenger, before the Yeerk has full control. 

I had tossed that business card in a drawer and didn't look at it again for about a month. But the day after that meeting, on the first day of spring break, I opened the drawer and pulled it out. "Peace" sounded kind of nice right now, honestly. 

The address on the card, it turned out, was an office in a strip of various businesses and things. There was a dentist at one end, a kids' gymnastics place at the other. When I approached the door, I saw that the office right next to it was an accountant's. There was a sign on the door about tax season. The door I wanted just had the logo and "business hours" printed underneath. 

Inside, I found myself in a little vestibule. There was a heavy, windowless grey door, a security camera that hung from the ceiling, and an intercom. Somewhat hesitantly, I pressed the button on the intercom. For a moment, all I could hear was the hum of static, and then:

"Yes?"

"Er... Hi, yeah, I was given this address? One of your members said to check you guys out?" I didn't mean to phrase everything as a question, but it came out that way anyway. I felt stupid standing there. And exposed. I eyed the camera above my head, wondering who exactly was watching me through it. 

"Name?" the intercom voice chirped.

"Uh... Ben Harrison?"

The only response was a buzzer sound and a click. I pulled open the door and stepped into a small lobby. There was what I guess was the reception desk, a couple chairs, and two doors. One was marked "Staff Only" and the other had an empty slot where a nameplate should have been. It didn't _look_ threatening. But then again, neither did I.

The receptionist turned out to be a matronly-looking woman behind the desk. She smiled at me as I came in and gestured toward the hard plastic chairs against the wall. "She's on the phone, but I've let her know you're here, so she'll be right with you."

I wondered who "she" was, but just said, "Thanks." I sank down onto one of the chairs, feeling like an idiot. I didn't know what I was expecting, but now that I was here, it seemed like it could be a terrible idea. Someone had figured out the invasion was happening and was luring Yeerks in to kill them. An elaborate scheme to find host sympathizers. That last one was stupid, and I knew it the moment I thought it. Subtlety wasn't exactly our strong suit in that regard. As for my original idea... well, it was hard to tell if I was being paranoid or not. When I got up to pace, the receptionist only looked up to ask if I wanted anything, and then turned back to whatever she was working on when I said I was fine. I lingered by the door for half-second too long, like I was going to leave, then paced back again. Nothing happened, but I don't know what I was expecting.

At about my third turn around the room, the unmarked door opened and a woman poked her head out. Upon seeing me she said, "Ben? Come in, come in!" and then I was ushered into a small office. Did I want something to drink? Tea? Coffee? They might have some soda in the break room. I said no, thanks, and settled uneasily into a chair across from the woman, who introduced herself as Nancy.

Nancy sat down in the swivel chair behind the desk, smiling so bright she could've powered a 100-watt bulb. "We've been expecting you--or at least we hoped we could expect you. Your friend, Jenny, told you about us, right?"

"Uh, yeah, sort of." We were sort of friends. She had sort of told me. "What exactly is this about?"

"You get right to the chase," Nancy mused. I didn't know what I was supposed to say to that, so I stayed silent. "Very well, then." She leaned forward to place her clasped hands on top of the desk. "First, am I actually talking to Ben, or am I speaking to Priton Six-Two-Four?"

I tried to not let my growing unease show. It's not like I wasn't expecting that. "Priton," I answered after a pause. "Am _I_ actually speaking to Nancy?"

She smiled at that. "In a manner of speaking, yes." I couldn't tell if she meant that I was talking to a Yeerk or that she wasn't using her real name. "We are Brain Trust. We are a group who are trying to find a better way forward between humans and Yeerks--and theoretically any species, but as we're solely Earth based..." She waved a hand. "Only so much we can do there."

I absorbed this for a moment, narrowing my eyes skeptically. "So. What. You want to... stop the invasion? Create more voluntaries?" 

"We only have voluntary hosts here."

That didn't answer my questions. "Right," I said, unable to keep the sarcasm from my tone. I'd seen how well that sort of thing went. "Have you heard of the Sharing? They've got that covered already."

Nancy--or whoever--leveled her gaze at me. I pretended I was stretching as an excuse to move away. "We prefer a method of less subterfuge." She leaned back then in her chair. "We've been paying attention to you, Priton."

"Have you?" I drawled. "Good God, why?"

She looked like she wanted to laugh, but instead she said, "Normal protocol when we're trying to recruit someone," she said. "We wanted to know who you were before we met you. Not everyone suggested to us is compatible with our views."

I still wasn't clear on what those views even were. "And you think I am?"

Instead of answering, Nancy asked, "Why did you come here, Priton?"

"I was asked to," I answered. Because that made as much sense as anything else. Curiosity, maybe a death wish. There were a lot of possibilities, really. 

Nancy raised an eyebrow at me. "And do you always do as you're told?" I didn't think it was necessary for me to answer that. Nancy continued, "I've talked to people in our organization about you. Most of them didn't know who you were"--Wholly unsurprising--"but the ones who did seemed to think you were a loyal member of the Empire."

She seemed to be expecting a response, so I said, "Of course."

"You let a surprising number of people go from the Sharing."

"I don't--" I stopped. Shifted in my chair. A picture of Jenny's face sprang to mind unbidden. "People leave of their own volition all the time. It's part of the policy. We can't get them all."

"No," she seemed to agree. "But a couple of your 'failures' have ended up with us, and I find your patterns rather interesting." 

I didn't notice that I was gripping the arms of my chair until my hands started to ache from the force. I loosened my grip. "I don't see what the problem is," I said, keeping my voice flat. "We got them in the end anyway, didn't we? What difference does it make when or how?"

"Oh no." Nancy waved a hand like she was batting away my words. "I think you're misunderstanding. I never said that they were Controllers."

"What." My head was starting to ache. "You just said--"

"--That we only have voluntary hosts," Nancy finished. "Which is true. Not all of our human members are also hosts. I believe most are when they come to us, but also some opt to split from their Yeerk after joining." I must have looked as utterly confused as I felt, because she was smiling at me again. "You asked if we're trying to end the invasion. That's a tricky question, because the invasion's already happened--you're already _here_. We are trying to find a solution that's beneficial for everyone."

I didn't know what to say to that. My first instinct was to say "good luck with that" and leave. But I stayed in my seat. It occurred to me suddenly that I was tired, like that bone deep exhaustion that came from trying very, very hard, for a very long time. I didn't have actual bones, of course, but I'd felt _Ben's_ exhaustion that way, in that sense where a host's feelings sometimes mixed too closely with your own until the line blurred. Finally, I said, "I don't know if I want to risk it."

Nancy nodded as though she was expecting me to say that. "Of course, I understand. But I would encourage you to at least think about it for awhile."

"Okay." The word came out without thinking, but I couldn't bring myself to take it back.

"Great!" She started shuffling papers that were on her desk, which I think might be the universal sign for "you're dismissed." First though, there was apparently one last order of business. "I just had one other question." When I nodded for her to continue, Nancy asked, "Is Ben voluntary?"

I opened my mouth to answer--a definitive _no_ , even though we were well beyond active fighting now. Acquiescence was not the same as acceptance--but I closed it before saying anything. I should lie. I should say yes, of course. Why would I even consider this if he wasn't? A perfectly valid question, really. And I had the feeling that if I told the truth, and decided to throw my hat in with this lot, I wouldn't be allowed to keep him. I should lie.

"No. He's not."

Nancy seemed to consider this for a moment, before saying, "Well. I'm sure we can cross that bridge if we come to it." She stood then, and I took that as my cue to rise as well. "I'm sure you'll be seeing us soon." 


	11. Endings

It was a quiet drive home.

Let's be clear here--Ben had never been a chatty host. Getting him to talk when I wanted him to was like pulling teeth--ultimately more painful than rewarding. I tried anyway because... what? I was bored? Cruel? Lonely? Some combination therein? Two years in, though, and Ben hardly talked to me at all. I know this should have been thrilling. Most Yeerks with involuntary hosts would have been happy to trade places with me. Except the especially sadistic ones. And the ones whose own hosts were broken already. I wasn't a sadist--I didn't _enjoy_ Ben's pain. And I didn't _want_ a host that was broken. 

The door bounced off the wall as I slammed it open to enter the apartment. I threw my keys down on the kitchen table, where they skittered across and fell off the opposite edge. I left them on the floor. 

I could feel him waiting. Just because he didn't "say" anything didn't mean I couldn't _hear_ him. You know how, even if you can't make out the lyrics of loud music being played nearby, you can _feel_  it? How the bass reverberates through you, jarring and uncomfortable? A host's emotions were a lot like that. All afternoon, I had Ben's confusion, then his skepticism, then his hopefulness, and now his resigned anticipation, all reverberating through me. 

I stood now in the middle of our living room, staring around at Ben's books. Why did I keep all this stuff? I couldn't think of a reason why now. "You only want to trust them because you think 'Nancy' or whoever is human," I said aloud.

Silence, except for the thrumming of anxious waiting.

I tried again. "You know even if you're rid of me, you can't just go back to your old life. You _know_ that." I picked up a book off the coffee table. It was a heavy history book. Civil War battlefields. "Who knows what they even do with hosts who don't want their Yeerks, anyway, but I guarantee you can't just go back to rotting in this place like you were before." The thrumming was turning a little angry at that. Good. Fights weren't much fun when they were one-sided. "Someone's going to notice if I suddenly disappear and you're walking around on your own. I wouldn't give you a week." I dropped the book. It bounced on the carpet, landed with the front cover teetering open to the first blank page inside. "You think the next guy's going to be better? That they'll keep all your shit around? That they'll let your family go uninfested?" I stepped over the book, moving on further into the small room. "Fuck you and your Jedi chokehold bullshit, try pulling that sort of stunt now, buddy."

<You only want me around because your girlfriend likes me.>

I choked out a laugh. "She doesn't even _know_ you."

<You think she's into slimy grey slugs?> Ben laughed. <You're more delusional than I am.>

"Fuck off." 

<You might as well join,> Ben continued, because he was apparently on a roll now. <It's not like you're doing anything useful anyway. You've got one job and you don't even do it that well. You don't even _like_ it.  >

I stood there for a moment, looking around. You could see most of the apartment standing at one end of the living room. The tiny space with the TV and the couch and the bookshelf. The cut out that looked into the kitchen. The short hallway that went to the bathroom. The closet that held the furnace. I'd forgotten to turn the light off in the bedroom earlier, and I could see lamp light spilling out over the partial wall that separated it from the living room. "So, what?" I asked. "You'd rather give up your entire life, then. That's it."

Ben didn't answer right away. I felt the thought forming, but I waited. I wondered if we'd reached the end of Ben's rope, if that was as much mental energy as he had. That shouldn't bother me. It shouldn't. But Ben was right--I was not very good at my job. We wouldn't have been having this conversation if I was. 

Finally, a tired voice said, <What life?>

* * *

 

When she said she was sure I'd be seeing them soon, I thought she meant she expected me to come back.

The next day, it was warm enough to drive me out of the apartment. One of those Dairy Queen stands--the kind that was just a building for employees and you ordered from a window--had just opened for the season around the corner, so I walked the five minute trip to get an ice cream cone. 

I didn't notice him at first. Maybe if I was a human I would have, because humans always seem to think that if someone that looks different from them coincidentally walks behind them for a ways, they must mean to mug them. When we both turned the corner, I thought he just had the same idea I had. Some ice cream on a warm day. When he kept walking as I got in line, I forgot all about him.

But he was there on the way back. I paused at the cross walk, pretending I was adjusting my napkin and glanced back. He had also stopped, but he wasn't looking at me. Instead, he seemed to be toying with the walkman at his hip. Just a jogger, probably. He was wearing a red bandana, tied around his neck, which looked kind of out of place with the rest of his ensemble, but who was I to judge? I kept going, and tried not to think too much about the fact that he started moving, too.

There was someone else the next day. When I took the trash out, there was a girl outside, looking at a map. She had a red bandana over her hair. I asked her if she needed help. She said no, smiled brightly at me, and then went back to staring at the map. 

And this continued. Not always a different person--I saw Map Girl and Jogger Guy again the next week--and sometimes not so subtly. On the Monday that school started, I came out to the parking lot to find a guy in a business suit leaning against a car that looked too fancy to belong to anyone living in that building. Could've been a car pool.  Could've been somebody's dad. The pocket square of his suit looked an awful lot like a red bandana.

Did they think I was going to turn on them or something? Surely they had something in place to avoid _that,_ or they'd never last. Were they making themselves available in case I changed my mind? I was tempted several times to call the number on their business card and ask what the hell they were doing.

Anna came down for a weekend at the beginning of April. She called and asked if she could come stay for a couple days--she needed to get away. School was driving her nuts and she only had one class on Fridays. "Please, Ben?"

Maybe I'd given up already, because I couldn't say no.

I went to pick her up at the train station and listened on the drive home as she complained about the midterms she'd just finished, and her finals that were coming up, and about her roommate who kept using her stuff without asking. "She used my comb when she dyed her hair last weekend, and there was all this shit still stuck to it that she didn't clean off. Who _does_ that?"

"A complete monster," I said.

Anna shot me a look. "Ben, are you even listening to me?"

"Of course," I said with such sincerity that it made Anna stare at me for a long second before continuing with her story.

When we got back to the apartment building and I parked the car, she suggested we go for a walk. "Sure." I popped the trunk so she could stow her purse next to the duffle bag she'd brought with, and then we headed out.

Anna talked, I listened. Actually listened for once, like I was filing this conversation away for Ben. She wasn't a bad sort, Anna. She was just comfortable telling Ben all her problems. It wasn't her fault her brother had been replaced with someone who barely knew what empathy was.

After we'd done a loop around the block, we headed back to the apartment. Anna kept looking over her shoulder. "I think somebody's following us."

"Huh?" I turned my head to see who she was talking about. Another jogger, different than the first guy, who, as though he knew we were watching him, leaned down now to fix his shoelaces. There was a familiar pattern to the armband he wore. "That guy? He lives in my building," I improvised. I waved when our shadow straightened up. He gave me a look that I think implied I'd broken some unspoken rule. Oops. I grinned, amused by this, then started walking again, prompting Anna to continue with whatever she'd been talking about.

Later that night, as I made up the couch for Anna to sleep on, she brought up the Sharing again. It was the first time we'd talked about it in a very long time, so when she said some friends of hers were trying to get her to join, I stood there for a moment, pretending to plump her pillow, and thought, oh what the hell? 

"I wouldn't if I were you," I said. "I don't think it's really your thing."

Anna laughed. "What, you think I suck at doing charity work?"

"No. I mean..." How had Jenny put it? "They're kind of... intense. It kind of wears on you after awhile." I straightened up. "I don't know, I've been thinking of quitting. It's a lot commitment, you know? And they kind of make you feel guilty if you're not giving them everything. I mean, it was all right for a while, but it gets kind of old." I shrugged. "If you really want to do charity stuff, you could volunteer at a soup kitchen or something. Or you could donate a bunch of clothes or whatever."

Anna scowled at me, probably thinking I was making fun of her because she liked to shop. It was something Ben might have done, a million years ago. "Maybe I'll tell my friends to forget it, I guess, if it's like that."

<That's the best I can do,> I told Ben. If you squinted hard enough, it was almost like an apology.

When I drove Anna to the train station Sunday morning, I could feel her peering at me for most of the way. I pretended not to notice as long as she didn't say anything.

"Ben?" I tilted my head toward her so she knew I was listening without taking my eyes off the road. "Is everything okay?"

"Of course," I answered automatically. I thought I knew what she meant. She was a psych major--I wondered if they'd told her how to look out for "at risk" behavior. I wondered how many signs I was exhibiting. I wondered how many signs Ben had exhibited without anyone saying anything. 

When we reached the station, I climbed out of the car to retrieve her bag, and Anna hugged me a little too tightly, which probably answered my question. "You're coming to graduation, right?" she asked as she pulled away.

"Obviously," I said. It's easy to lie if it's all you ever do.

"Okay." Anna took her bag from me and slung it over her shoulder. "Love you. Be good."

"Love you, too. No promises." She rolled her eyes at me and then waved and headed off to wait for her train. 

Later, at home, I pulled out the Brain Trust's card again. Maybe I'd call them tomorrow. They probably weren't in the office on a Sunday, anyway. Maybe I'd just go out and talk to whoever today's stalker was. I set the card next to the phone so I'd remember if that was how it was going to be. Then I spent the rest of the night grading and working on lesson plans, just in case it wasn't.

In the end, it wasn't really my decision. I went to bed a little before midnight, collapsing into bed and falling asleep almost immediately. It had been a long weekend. I remembered now why I liked avoiding people--socializing was exhausting.

It felt like I'd barely closed my eyes before I heard a sudden _crash!_ from the living room, and a voice I definitely did not recognize swearing, "Son of a _bitch_."


	12. Stalker

Did I say I didn't like Ben's books? I took it back. I loved every last one of those bulky, cumbersome things. I especially loved that there wasn't enough room for them, so they had to be stacked in piles, usually in unsteady configurations, because I couldn't be bothered to fix them until gravity decided to claim one as its victim.

They were nigh impossible to get around in the dark if you didn't know where they were.

Who needs a burglar alarm?

As quietly as I could, I rolled out of bed, crouching next to the night stand to listen. It's hard to be quiet in an apartment that is both small and mostly open air. I could hear whoever was out there moving around--a lot more carefully now. But if I could hear them, they'd be able to hear me.

I very carefully reached behind the nightstand to unplug the lamp that rested there. It was the only thing I had handy as a weapon. There was a dracon beam buried in my sock drawer, but I didn't think to grab it. Too many reasons that would have been a bad idea. 

As slowly and as quietly as I could, I turned the knob on my bedroom door and pulled it open. It was a clear sign of just how my life was going at the moment that I was hoping it was a burglar. The world's stupidest burglar, probably, or perhaps one who had the wrong apartment, because the most valuable thing I owned was the television, and even that was a piece of junk. They could have it, it was all theirs.

As I made my way out into the hallway, and started inching toward the living room, something thunked against the wall. I looked down at the outline of lamp cord, dangling haphazardly from where I'd hastily tried to secure it. Well, so much for stealth. Instead I raised the lamp and--

"Turn the light on, will you? I can't see a thing in here."

I stood there, at the entrance to the dark living room, staring at the dark shape of a person, momentarily dumbfounded--the natural response, if you ask me.

"Priton?" the shape said. "The light?"

Right. Not a burglar then. Finding the light switch meant navigating the living room, and possibly turning my back to someone I couldn't see. Forget that. Instead I set the lamp I was holding down on the ground and plugged it into the nearest outlet. Being lit from below gave him a somewhat frightening countenance than he might have otherwise, but it was enough to recognize my unexpected intruder as the first jogger I'd seen.

"That's better," he said, in a tone that was far more cheery than I thought the situation warranted. "Do you always set up death traps, or did I catch you on a special night?" He glanced away meaningfully at the probably very sorry state of Ben's things. 

I, however, didn't take my eyes off him. "How the hell'd you get in here?"

"Door was open," he said. It definitely was not.  He was settling himself down on the couch now. "I'm Nick, by the way. I'm from BT. You probably figured that out, though."

"Oh, sure," I said sarcastically. "You made it so obvious."

"Great," he replied, either hell bent on messing with me or completely tone deaf. "Sorry about all the sneaking around, but we like keeping tabs on people before they join up. Seems to keep the chance of unsavories down." He shrugged. "So I'm told, anyway, I don't know actual stats or anything."

 "I haven't even made up my mind yet," I said incredulously. I had, actually, but I thought I was perfectly justified in complaining, given the circumstances.

Nick shrugged again. "Sorry. Standard policy. I don't decide these things, somebody else does." Yeah, I could understand that. "But you've had some time to think it over now, haven't you?"

I started to answer, but then I realized something that was bothering me about his appearance. "Where's your bandana?" The ever present item seemed to be missing.

"Oh. That's not mine." Nick seemed to think about it for a minute, then clarified, "Well, technically it belongs to me, but I only wear it when I've got my partner with me. They've got other things to work on tonight, so you've just got me on my own."

Was dealing with these people always going to give me a headache, because keeping up with them was exhausting. "I don't understand," I said. "There are at least five or six of you."

"Yes. We share the same partner. They really like the pattern on bandanas for some reason, so they like wearing it to denote when they're present." Nick raised his hands in a sort of "that's how it is" gesture. "Personally, I'd pick something less obvious, but you like what you like, I guess."

"You share a Yeerk." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "That sounds..." Awful. "Complicated. Why would anyone do that?"

Nick grinned. "It's not that bad. And anyway, it's mostly 'cause it's convenient for the job. Looks kind of fishy having the same person lurk around places, you know?" He seemed to wait for a response, but I just stood there, probably looking more than a little ill. Getting used to one "voice" in your head was hard enough, never mind multiple. As if to reassure me, Nick said, "It's not considered normal, if you're worried. Just kind of necessary for our particular job. You can work out your own arrangements."

"Right." I didn't feel particularly reassured, honestly. "About that. I was told you guys don't allow involuntaries."

"We prefer equal partnerships or none at all, yeah." Nick seemed to straighten a little in his seat, like he was bracing himself for an argument.

An argument wasn't quite what I was going for, though. "So, say I join your group and I leave my host. What happens to him?"

"Oh." He looked slightly relieved. "That's up to him, really. He could stay with us, we... don't have the most room, but plenty of ex-hosts stay on. Or we can help him make other arrangements."

"What, like the witness protection program for ex-Controllers?"

Nick seemed to think this was funny, because he snorted. "Sure, if you want to think of it like that." He pushed up from his spot on the couch. "Does that mean you've made up your mind then?"

I stood there for a moment, looking around, as if I was trying to take everything in, but really I was waiting on Ben. Last chance to protest. Last chance to decide it wasn't worth what he'd have to give up. Last chance to decide that being an observer to his life was better than the uncertainty of a new one. 

I wasn't _surprised_ that he didn't protest. But it kind of hurt just the same.

"Yeah. We've made up our minds," I said at last. "What happens now?"

Nick was grinning broadly now. "Great. Well. I can take you back to HQ. Whatever you're arrangement is, you'll need orientation."

"Now?" I don't know what else I was expecting, with him standing in my living room in the middle of the night. Still. "Can I at least pack a bag first?" I asked dryly. "Or do I have to go like this?" I was wearing what I usually wore to bed--a white undershirt and a pair of boxers. Because nothing made things less awkward than having a conversation like this in your underwear.

"Oh. Yeah, sure." 

Ben never went anywhere, and I'd never had a reason to fix that, so when I unearthed his small, carry-on style suitcase from the depths of the hall closet, it was covered in a thick layer of dust. I made a half-hearted attempt at cleaning it off before deciding I didn't care. It wasn't my car that was going to get dirty with it rolling around. 

It took a lot of digging through drawers and the closet to find clothes I thought Ben would want to keep, and that were practical. He might like his one nice blazer, but when was he going to wear it? It felt like I was shopping for someone else. Like I was trying to find him a gift for his birthday or something, and trying to remember what his style was like before someone else decided what he wore every day. I tried not to think of his style as "clinically depressed college student" because that wasn't fair. Even if it was true.

I eventually dug out what I thought wouldn't embarrass him and decided that was good enough. Actually, forget shopping, what I really felt like was a parent, making sure their kid had everything they'd need before going to summer camp. That thought made me uncomfortable on more levels than I wanted to think about. If I'd thought it wouldn't take ten times as long, I'd have let Ben do it himself. 

I left the bedroom, towing the suitcase behind me, and walked past Nick, who was waiting politely next to the door. I found a photo album on the bookshelf, the only pictures that Ben had in his possession of his family. Of his parents. Into the bag it went. I looked around at stacks of books around the living room, trying to decide if they were worth keeping. We didn't have endless room. Who knew what he was doing after this? <You can buy new books,> I said, only hoping and not knowing if that was true.

Back in the bedroom, I did one last survey. Then I opened my sock drawer and unearthed the dracon beam that was there. It was just the standard issue weapon. Nothing fancy. I don't think I'd ever actually used it before. You never knew when you might need it, though, so it was coming along, too.

"Are you ready?" Nick asked as I emerged again.

<Ben?>

<Yeah.>

"Let's go." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The red bandana thing was absolutely inspired by a post on [this blog](http://selfdeterminedsymbionts.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Fun fact: though he doesn't seem to like him much in this universe so far, and though he'd be loathe to use an Andalite term, I'm pretty sure that it would be accurate to call Nick Priton's shorm. Nothing says "platonic soulmates" to me like being BFFs in almost every universe I write them in. In fairness, Priton would be hard pressed to like anyone in this position.
> 
> Edit: It should be noted that Priton, Nick... and quite a few characters, honestly, are characters I've written many times in many different stories. Albeit, in some very different configurations.


	13. White

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never been satisfied with explanations of how Gleet Biofilters work. There is no satisfaction to be found here.
> 
> Also not sure what they've been invented to keep out in this universe specifically, 'cause no resistance = fewer security breach-related issues? Remember when I promised to be less of a fail, like 10 chapters ago, I lied.

I might have taken a little pleasure at the puff of dust that came up as I lugged my bag into Nick's car, and at the look on his face as I shoved it unceremoniously to the side. There was nothing strictly necessary about this last action, except to see if it left a streak. It didn't. Pity.

"Are you always such a ray of sunshine?" Nick asked as we got into his car.

"It's two-thirty in the morning," I said, feeling like this ought to be sufficient answer. "You want sunshine, go to Australia."

The drive didn't take terribly long, though to be fair, there wasn't a lot of traffic at that hour, and once we left the city, we saw virtually no one. At some point, Nick asked if I minded if he turned on the radio. He took my silence as agreement.

It's stupid to sulk about something you're entering into willingly. No one was forcing me to be there, I didn't think, break ins and stalking aside. At any rate, I would have been there without them--albeit at a more reasonable hour. We were already at that point. 

But as I sat there, I was distinctly aware of the fact that Ben's jeans were pinching my--our--his stomach at the moment, and I was fairly sure there was a time when that couldn't be said of any of his clothes. _See?_ I wanted to say.  _He doesn't look like he's dying anymore--I've_ helped _._ I stared resolutely out the window. Was someone going to check to make sure he remembered to eat, wherever they sent him? That he didn't spend all of his money on books instead of food? That he didn't hole himself up in his room and not come out?

<I got through twenty-two years without you,> Ben pointed out. <They weren't all shit.>

I didn't respond, and Ben said nothing else for the ride. Maybe he was conserving his energy. Maybe he didn't want to acknowledge that I was worried. Ben's thoughts weren't clear on it, and I didn't want to think about it either.

* * *

 

"HQ," as it turned out, was a perfectly nondescript building, in the suburbs, in a complex of other nondescript office buildings. They were down the street from the post office. As we turned into the parking lot, I could just see the next sign, this one for a vehicle emissions test site. "Really like hiding in plain sight, huh?" I mused.

"What?"

"Never mind."

The building we entered was a plain two story. Like the last office I'd gone to, this one had hoops to jump through before we could go in. Nick said our names into the little speaker next to the door--all three of our names--there was a beep, and then a loud buzzer and he ushered us into the lobby. There was a second beep as we crossed the threshold, and I looked up to see a Gleet Biofilter as I passed through it. At least it was somewhat reassuring that it was an "all clear" sort of beep, and not a "about to vaporize an intruder" beep.

The lobby we stepped into was, I decided immediately, too bright for the time of day, and my mood. There were no windows in the room, which was larger than I expected, and the kind of bright white that probably gave neat freaks heart palpitations. A reception desk was off to one side, a seating area off to the opposite, and against the back wall, a glass paneled door through which I could only see another white wall, at least from the angle I was standing at.

I followed Nick to the reception desk, where he introduced me, and then chatted merrily away to the receptionist, who I learned was named Connie, that her Yeerk was in the pool was at the moment, and that she'd got stuck working the graveyard shift tonight because "Paul" or somebody had "a family thing he couldn't get out of." Fascinating.

Partly because I was afraid they'd forgotten I was there, and partly because I didn't want this to devolve into talking about their kids or something--okay, Nick didn't look any older than Ben, but I'd watched enough daytime television to know that didn't matter; anything was possible--but this needed to stop before I was tempted to steal the car keys and make a run for it.

"Are there are any actual Yeerks that I'm going to be allowed to talk to?" I asked, cutting one of them off mid-sentence. I didn't care enough about their conversation to pay attention to which.

Connie turned to her computer, tapped away at it for a minute, and then said, "I think Lindus Eight-Six-One will be free in a few minutes, if you're willing to wait for her."

"Great," I said. "Yes."

Nick shephered me toward the glass paneled door, which I soon discovered led to a hallway. This hallway, like the lobby, was also mostly white, except for the grey carpet at our feet, and the heavy grey metal doors that dotted our path. Even the box that turned out to hold a fire extinguisher was painted white. Whoever had designed this place really liked minimalism, I guess. Or was color blind. Most of the doors were numbered, except for the odd "Janitor," who I deeply pitied at the moment, and "Stairs."

Nick stopped us in front of a door marked simply "4." He used a key, newly retrieved from Connie in reception, and only grunted when I asked if they got quite a lot of escapees. I had the feeling he was quite happy to pass me off onto someone else.

"If it's not in use, there's not any reason to keep it open," he said as he opened the door. This made perfect sense to me. Nick switched on the light to the room and stepped aside for me to enter. "Just an F.Y.I., orientation's generally two-part--one together, one separate, for you know, consent reasons--"

"Separate's fine," I said.

Nick didn't say anything for a second, then shrugged. "Okay. Well. Hold tight. It'll probably be a few minutes."

The room we were in was about the size of an exam room at doctor's office, except instead of one of those bed-like contraptions, the room was dominated by a desk and two chairs. I spent a little time inspecting the floor, looking for places where it didn't look quite right, where a piece of it might pop out. I found nothing. Well. One thing was clear, whatever they meant by "separate" happened somewhere else.

I straightened up from where I'd crouched to inspect the floor and instead stood to lean one hip against the desk while we waited. Nick had said a few minutes. I assumed a few minutes _meant_ a few minutes, though it's not like I had anywhere else to be if they kept me waiting.

Pretending I was looking around at the room's--surprise--minimal decor, I said, casually, "Probably your last chance to tell me how much of an asshole I am." The quiet mental static that I usually thought of as Ben was thoughtful, a little anxious. Look at that, in sync at last, and just in time. "I know you want to."

There was a long, quiet moment, when Ben contemplated just not saying anything at all, and I guess we continued to agree that if he didn't "say" what he was thinking, it didn't count. That game had gotten us this far, after all.

Finally, <You know, if you keep talking to yourself like that, people are going to start thinking you're nutso.>

I grinned, but said nothing. He could have the last word.

And that was truly the last word, because not a minute later, the door opened and someone breezed in in a haze of suffocating perfume and a cheery, "Hello! You must be Priton and Ben."

Lindus Eight-Six-One, it turned out, was a human-controller--she introduced her host as "Lacey"--with a bright blue mohawk and more metal in her face than I'd ever seen on a person before. She also spoke in a bright, happy voice, at approximately ninety miles an hour. Maybe I was dead and this was hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they were dead the whole time. 
> 
> Nah, just kidding. I wouldn't do that.


	14. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rather than write this as three short chapters like I originally intended, it's all combined here.

"...And we have minor housing upstairs."

We were being given a tour. This was either not an official part of "orientation" or Lindus was choosing to ignore me when I said we didn't need to do it together. Or she was hard of hearing. She _did_ talk quite loudly.

"Minor housing?" I repeated. We had left the hallway we'd started in, and were making our way through the first floor of the building. It seemed like a bit of a maze to me, personally, but I wasn't going to be seeing much of it. We had so far passed a lot of dark offices, the computer server room--"For a technologically advanced species, our internet is down a lot"--a laundry room and a kitchenette that looked like it had been the building's original break room. There were half a dozen microwaves, a fridge, and no stove or oven.

"Yeah, mostly temporary for humans who aren't staying," Lindus said. "But we have a couple permanent residents up there, too. I think Kareem's got, like, really bad claustrophobia or something, and Jason's not staying somewhere else without him, so..." She shrugged.

I nodded like I knew what the hell she was talking about. We had paused at the end of another hallway. This one was a bit more lively, though it was hard to say if that was because the sun was coming up or if we had just entered the inhabited part of the building. At any rate, we kept seeing people who would wave to Lindus and glance at me curiously, but none of them stopped to talk. One woman glared at me as we passed, and I missed out on the explanation of where the first floor bathrooms were as I tried to remember where I knew her from. Ben's memory was no help. In fairness, though, I pissed off a lot of people.

"Am I allowed up there?" I asked casually after Lindus explained about the housing. I hadn't meant it as a particularly serious question, only that I seemed to be shown everything _else_ , and we were steering away from the stairs now. When Lindus hesitated, though, I raised an eyebrow. "Lindus?"

She cleared her throat. "Well, you're welcome to go up if you're invited, of course, but these are mostly newly freed involuntaries and people who've had bad run ins with the Empire." She looked at me, and I wondered how harshly I was being judged. I stared back at her with a blank, neutral expression. Lindus sighed. "You might not be well-received."

"Fair enough."

We continued on our way until we reached another, short hallway at what I thought was the back of the building. The only thing back there was a fire exit and an elevator--the first I'd seen after about a dozen stairwells.

"The only thing left on the tour is downstairs," Lindus said as she pushed the button for the elevator. The little screen above the doors that announced what floor the elevator was currently stopped at read "B2." 

"What's downstairs?" I asked, watching the number change as the elevator rose.

"The cafeteria."

"I thought we just saw the caf--Oh." Lindus was looking at me like I was obtuse. Right. I felt Ben tensing, and I couldn't really blame him. There was nothing pleasant for hosts during feedings, even if you were voluntary. Sitcom laugh tracks sounded kind of eery mixed with screams.

A bell dinged and the elevator doors slid open. I followed Lindus inside. There were buttons for four floors--the two you could see from the outside, and two basement levels. Lindus told me that there were stairs going downstairs to the first basement level, and stairs going upstairs, but we needed the elevator to go all the way down. She pressed the button for B2, and the doors slid closed. It was a silent, and somewhat longer than you'd expect, ride down. I wondered what they kept on "B1" but didn't say anything. I thought about asking if the blue mohawk had been Lindus or Lacey's decision. It almost looked like it glowed in the dim light of the elevator. I couldn't decide if this was cool or just distracting.

I braced myself as the elevator settled at the bottom floor. The very first thing I heard was a child's shriek. I jerked back as two girls--probably no more than ten--careened into the elevator, red-faced and giggling.

"Hey! Hey, let us get out first!" Lindus called as we scooted around the two panting children. There was a chorus of "sorry's" and the last I saw of them before the doors closed again, they were collapsing into another fit. I started to ask if Brain Trust was okay with hosts that young, or if they were somebody's kids, but Lindus waved me along. "Come on."

"B2" turned out to be the main Yeerk pool, but in miniature. It looked like a parking garage that had been dug out so it had more room. There was a pool, as expected, in the center, and a familiar enough looking pier where a line of people waited. Some looked like they were dressed for work. One person was dressed in their pajamas. I turned to ask Lindus if there was other housing, but she was already marching away, clearly expecting me to follow her.

The most obvious difference between this and the main Yeerk pool was that there were no cages. I watched as a woman leaned down to deposit her Yeerk in the pool, and when she came up, her expression hardly changed. As we passed her, I heard the woman say, "We got such a slow start this morning, we're going to be late" like she was a parent trying to corral her kids.

I saw no Taxxons, and only a handful of Hork-Bajir. It wasn't surprising, exactly, but I wondered what  _that_ set up was like.

Lindus showed me where the freed humans hung out. The general consensus seemed to be "wherever they please," though there weren't actually a great many around at this hour. Next, I was shown storage, which I wasn't sure was really necessary, but whatever. I wasn't the tour guide here. On our circuit around, I wondered more than once where they were getting their Kandrona rays from. How far did those things stretch? Did this town have its own?

When I asked all this, Lindus didn't answer so much as suggest it was time to get us situated.

It was so quick after that. Part of me wished later that there'd been more time to take things in. It felt like Ben's excitement was propelling me forward. His brain was a blur--it was hard for even me to keep up with. Good. That was good. I told myself that was happy news. That I'd done good in at least this one thing.

Goodbyes are not really my thing. As the human saying goes, if you can't do something right, you might as well not do it at all.

* * *

 

Life as an unhosted Yeerk was not that bad. Sometimes, you build things up in your head so much that it becomes this entirely different thing than reality. There's this strange double standard in the Empire, that we as Yeerks are inherently superior to other species, that we have the right to conquer them, and then on the other hand that it is better for a Yeerk to have a host than to not, that we're somehow more worthwhile when we do.

There was something relatively peaceful about spending all of my time in the pool. I was hardly alone--all those free humans had to leave their Yeerks somewhere, after all--but it felt less stressful. Relatively speaking, anyway. I was living in what was not a "legal" Yeerk pool, with people who had views that would have gotten us all killed ordinarily. Knowing that if everything went to hell, we were the most screwed because we were too hard to transport and couldn't save ourselves. It hadn't come up in the relatively short life of Brain Trust, but it would be stupid to assume that meant safety. Still. All that considered, it wasn't so bad.

But I missed Ben.

We weren't totally isolated in the pool, of course. You could isolate yourself if you wanted to, but there were interfaces. We could use computers--of a sort, I guess--and on a good day, the internet even worked long enough that you could find a bored human who was willing to tell you that yeah, there was a Ben Harrison here. That he hadn't left, maybe because he didn't like the uncertainty that would await him otherwise, maybe he decided aliens weren't so bad when they didn't want to force him to give up his bodily autonomy. Maybe he decided they weren't so bad as long as they weren't _me_. 

I couldn't blame him. Or at least, I tried very hard not to blame him.

I discovered that there were two ways that unhosted Yeerks gained hosts. The first was familiar--get a job. You could be a stalker like Red Bandana Guy--the Yeerk whose name I had never actually learned. "Stalker" wasn't the actual job title, but I could think of it as nothing else. You could be a recruiter like Nancy or Jenny. You could be a spy. You could have any number of other jobs, I suppose, too, if you had a useful skill set. Let's be honest--I did not. The other option was finding someone who was willing to take you on, so to speak.

In the end, I think it's safe to say that the way I received my second host was something of a mixture of both.

* * *

 

The first thing I became aware of, as I stretched my body through my new host's ear canal and out to touch their brain, was a sense of calm. Was this the result of a voluntary host? Or a difference in personality? I couldn't really say, but there was something immediately comforting in this new, unfamiliar space.

As I reached deeper, digging myself into the crevices of the human brain, something bubbled up. A mental image, a memory. Ben, slouched in a chair at a Sharing meeting, hair sticking up where I'd run his fingers through it, before I'd noticed. As I continued there were more. Of Ben smiling. Laughing. Not really Ben. Me. But Ben's face nonetheless. Little memories popping up as I progressed, called forth by their owner, like a welcome mat as I crossed the threshold. Hello friend, it said. Good to see you again.

When I had full control, I opened my eyes, pulling back from the pool. The first time you sense things inside a host, that very first time, can be overwhelming. A thousand new stimuli suddenly bombarding you, some of which you don't even know the name for yet. It was beautiful. It was awful. And like an addict needing their next fix, you wanted more of it. Or at least I did. I missed having limbs. I missed color. I missed feeling like a solid object, filling a space. It felt like returning to the world. I wondered sometimes if other people felt the opposite? That returning to the blind, deaf world of the pool was comforting. Certainly it was more natural.

I felt her waiting. Letting me acclimate. To remember how arms and legs worked as I pushed off the ground. To steady myself and take in the world from a new angle. When her "voice" came at last, there was a comfort in its familiarity.

<Hi Priton.>


	15. Dysphoria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I do my best to talk about a sensitive subject that I have no personal experience with. Hoo-boy. I apologize in advance.
> 
> I have been casually using he/him pronouns for Priton this whole time. Those are correct.

Psychologists would probably have a field day with me, I suspect, but here is a truth: I felt more comfortable in human skin than I did in my own. 

I can't say if that is because there's something inherently appealing to me about the human form specifically, or if it's just an aversion to my own, natural state. At any rate, it didn't become apparent until I was without a host for an extended period of time. It's easy to not want what you don't have when you've never experienced anything else, and it's easy to be content with your current situation to the point that you don't think too hard about how much better or worse it is to you than situations that came before it.

It wasn't just the added senses, though that was not an insignificant part of the appeal, but I appreciated the mobility. I felt less helpless in a body. Humans aren't known for their natural defenses, but Yeerks in our natural state don't even have the option of creating tools to help us. That might have been all right when we were restricted to our own planet, but we've got whole generations now that have been born on ships, on other planets even. Given enough years, those of us born in diaspora will die there, too. Circumstances are different, and the dangers are different.

There was a lot to get used to in Jenny, even accepting all that. It's strange how different the world looks inside a different host. There was the subtle--Jenny was a little shorter than Ben, her body shape was different, moved differently--and the less subtle--Ben was mildly colorblind. This was a thing I'd known, of course, but it had new meaning now that I saw through the eyes of someone who wasn't.

It was also unexpectedly bizarre being inside a female body. I didn't expect it to be--Yeerks don't naturally have genders. I don't know if any species "naturally" does, technically, but _historically_ , it hasn't been an issue. Or at least no one talked about it, which is really not the same thing. At any rate, the human concept of gender was as alien as having eyes. 

It's easy when you have a host to blend things from them with yourself. Lines tend to blur when you spend that much time connected to someone else's brain. It's not uncommon to hear Yeerks referred to by their host's gender, unless they requested otherwise. It certainly didn't bother me for two years with Ben. But the first time someone called me "she" in a new host, I corrected them without thinking.

I suppose you learn all sorts of things about yourself when you change hosts.

It was strange being in a new host for other reasons, of course. You grow very accustomed to the way one mind works. Jenny's mind was somehow both calmer and more active than Ben's. She was certainly more _chatty,_ a fact I was hardly going to complain about. And she wanted me there. Had _requested_ me, specifically, a fact that made my head spin, even as much as it made a certain amount of sense. I wouldn't have been there without her. She wouldn't have been there without me. If any partnership had ever made sense, it was this one.

 I had one complaint about sharing a head space with Jenny. She was too observant.

<Just talk to him. You're allowed.>

We were home--Jenny's home, now mine, I guess, though it would take some time before it felt like that. "Home" to me was clutter and confined space. The apartment Jenny shared with her roommate, Gena, was much neater than Ben's could have ever been, even with twice as many people living there. I did like the neighborhood better, though, I had to say. We didn't live in student housing, but we were very close to UC Santa Barbara, where Gena would be starting grad school soon. Jenny wouldn't--she'd gone to trade school rather than conventional college--but it was so close to our day job that we might have walked if it didn't require crossing several busy roads.

<He doesn't want to talk to me.> There was no talking out loud here. The issue of too much quiet didn't exist with a roommate, and even if it wasn't, Gena's girlfriend was there so much I thought we should charge her rent.

<You don't know that,> Jenny argued. <He talks to _me_. >

<He doesn't _hate_ you. >

Jenny's "voice" sounded exasperated now. <Well, if you're not going to talk to him, quit _looking_ at him. >

I hadn't actually seen Ben in two months--the time I was unhosted. The few days I'd been inside Jenny--but Jenny had. It was an easy thing to find memories. Humans have a way sometimes of remembering things without meaning to, even if they didn't have someone rooting around for them.

It was a little sad, and a lot pathetic, but I was used to that. I'd spent the better part of two years pretending I didn't miss Jenny. It was harder pretending I didn't miss Ben. At least Ben's memories of Jenny were the same as mine--I didn't need to clue him in every time I wanted to think about them. 

<I'm not gay,> I told Jenny, responding to a grumbling thought about "gay aliens." Even as I said it, I remembered having the exact same conversation with Ben.

<Okay, bi aliens, then?> Jenny tried.

I thought about this, then said, <I don't think so?>

That apparently exhausted Jenny's knowledge of appropriate labels. <Well, there's no way you're straight.>

<Okay.> I really didn't understand humans' obsession with these things, even when their knowledge was limited, as Jenny willingly admitted hers was. With Yeerks, there wasn't the same issue. For one thing, we bonded in threes, not in pairs, and it came down to compatibility--you either were compatible or you weren't. And of course, we did it at the end of our lives rather than at the beginning of maturity. I was not old. The Yeerk "normal" shouldn't apply to me anymore than the human one would.

Yeah. Psychologists would have a field day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The very first friend I ever made through the Animorphs fandom went to UCSB. I was so pleased when I got to tell him that he was living in the same place as the Animorphs.
> 
> Fun with Pronunciation, courtesy of Steph, Age 11: Jenny's roommate, Gena, is "GEE-na." Like. Gina. But spelled with an E. Also, though it's probably too late for this: Priton is "pri-tin." I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out if there was an emphasis on one syllable or another, on this name I've been saying since 1999. Alternatively, you can just call him P. I do.
> 
> And for fun: Jenny's full first name is Jeanine. I have no idea why. Possibly this makes more sense when I tell you her name was originally Genie before I changed it to Jenny. Genie and Gena. I made the right choice changing that.
> 
> Also, Priton's ace. It took me a very long time to work that out, he can be a little confused for how much trouble he gave me.


	16. Evolution

HQ, when you got down to it, had a population problem. For one thing, it's hard to hide a mini-city inside a building. For another, too many people needing somewhere to go was a security risk. There were safe houses, both for people who decided to relocate, and for people who _had_ to relocate because they were compromised, but we didn't have an infinite amount of space with those either. That was besides the people, like Jenny and I, who didn't need to stay there, of course. We were not even that large a group, when you got down to it, which meant things were even more concerning, that we already neared capacity.

Given that, you could argue that it would be selfish for someone new coming in to opt to stay at HQ. It's not like the problem wasn't obvious to anyone who spent even a little bit of time there.

Thankfully, and unsurprisingly, "selfish" is my type.

With that many people--human people--living there, the "break" room on the main floor was always stocked. I wondered how much of Brain Trust's budget went to feeding its members. Someone donated a lot of it, I'd heard, but I didn't know who. 

Jenny worked in an antiques store--"The most literal and boring job you can get when you went to school for carpentry"--which meant that we kept stranger hours than I was used to. It wasn't so bad, though, which you wouldn't think, would you? Certainly I'd have thought being anti-social and generally not liking the majority of people would mean I'd have a rough time.

<Oh, no,> Jenny had assured me. <Hating people is practically a prerequisite for working retail.> It was both reassuring and concerning that she was entirely sincere.

On the bright side, keeping strange hours meant that we usually arrived at HQ at off-times. We were good at hitting that sweet spot between people who came to feed after their hosts were fed, and those who came before.

After feeding, I got into the habit of casually exploring the ground floor. It turned out I was only allowed there and down by the pool unless someone invited me. Jenny was allowed on her own, which I personally thought was unfair. Not the least because this would have been a lot easier if I didn't have to wander aimlessly, hoping for a random encounter.

It took four tries to find him. It didn't help that he didn't keep a set schedule--Ben _needed_ a schedule. He floundered without it. The varying daily schedule of college had practically killed him, I couldn't imagine what he was doing now. It wasn't really that I thought he was incapable so much as the limits of his capability seemed larger and bleaker when we were apart. I didn't worry about Jenny in the same way--for one thing, we weren't apart for very long now, for another, she felt more steady to me. To be fair, she hadn't had two years of involuntary infestation to slowly suck the will out of her.

Honestly, it would have made my life infinitely easier if I was as free of remorse as Ben thought I was.

Four tries equaled to almost two weeks before I found him, standing alone in front of one of the microwaves in the break room, watching the timer tick down. He had a plastic fork wedged between his teeth, and I could see it moving in time with the seconds that passed. Up, down. Up, down. He didn't look up when I entered, or at all until I slid up next to him. 

"Hey." There were approximately a thousand things I wanted to say to him, all vying for attention first. And all that came out was "hey." Yeah, that sounds about right.

Ben pulled the fork from his mouth, offering a little crook of a smile. "Hey. You're here late." The microwave dinged, and Ben turned away to stir whatever he was making--it looked like noodles--before closing the door and setting the time again.

"Yeah, I didn't get off until after eight," I said breezily. "Works out, though. Less of a line downstairs at this time of day."

He looked at me, and I could practically see the wheels turning in his head, despite his blank expression. "I see," he said finally. "I hadn't heard you'd got a new assignment. Anybody I know?" He asked this casually, but I could almost hear the unadded _why are you here?_

My throat felt dry. "In a manner of speaking."

Ben blinked at me for a long second. I smiled weakly at him. "Jesus Christ, Priton." Got it in one. "What do you want?"

Great question. "To talk?" It came out as more of a question than I intended it to.

"No." Ben's answer was flat, that tiny smile gone now. To be fair, everything he said was a little flat. Like he was a kid being forced to read from a textbook in class. Or like he'd forgotten how to emote. The microwave dinged again, but he didn't turn to retrieve his food.

"Okay," I said, but I didn't move either. Instead we just stood there and looked at each other for a long moment. Eventually, the microwave beeped again. _Hello? I'm still here,_ it seemed to say.

Ben broke eye contact first. "You're fucking insufferable," he informed me.

"I know." I couldn't help the little thrill I got at his words. I knew for a fact that Ben rarely cursed before me, that he tended toward the "words should mean something" camp, while I was a bit more liberal. Then again, I also hadn't known any human curses before being linked to his brain. Chicken or the egg?

Ben retrieved his noodles from the microwave. The door banged and bounced off as he slammed it shut with a little too much force. He marched past me and I let him go, standing still in my spot.

<That could have gone better,> Jenny said. She sounded unsurprised, but still sorry. She had insisted, after all.

I was about to say that it had gone about as well as I'd expected it to, but then I heard Ben behind me, in the doorway, make an exasperated sound. I turned to look at him.

"Fine. Come on."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Priton would so be proud of making Ben swear more.


	17. Humility

It wasn't hard to work out why claustrophobia would be a problem for someone living at HQ permanently.

We had limited space, and a building that was never meant to be used as a residence for anybody, let alone the number of people we needed it for. I didn't know what the situation was on the top floor--I assumed there was more space, but the residents there also usually left quickly--but B1, or the level made up entirely of permanent residences, made closets seem roomy.

 We took the elevator down. Ben stood as far from me as the small space would allow. As we started our descent, he said, "I don't know if my roommate's in. Be nice."

"Why wouldn't I be nice?" I asked.

Ben just looked at me.

<Priton,> Jenny deadpanned. 

"What?" I insisted. I was not that bad, surely. I did actually know how to behave, despite what they both seemed to think. I crossed my arms over my chest and looked away from Ben, instead staring at the doors until the elevator shuddered to a stop. Already, this was going so well.

The rooms on B1 weren't so much "rooms" as they were spaces partitioned off with retractable walls that could fold up. A lucky few had landed the real prize--there were a few rooms on that floor that had real doors, real walls, and real privacy--well, plus a roommate or two. The trade off for getting one of those was that you had to sleep in a literal janitor's closet.

<I think they're for couples,> Jenny supplied helpfully.

<How romantic,> I drawled, eyeing one such room as Ben led us down the hall. It still had the plaque on the door that designated its old purpose.

<Did you hear Adam and Fiona are expecting?> Jenny asked cheerfully, as if I couldn't see this piece of gossip in her head for myself. <And Carris, too, I guess.> When I shuddered, Jenny assured me, clearly trying not to laugh, <I promise, if I ever decide I want kids, I'll boot you first.>

<Thank you.> 

It wasn't that Yeerks were unwelcome on B1 so much as those there were usually there because they had to be. I wondered if Carris One-Four Eight--and by extension, Adam Kohl, his host--could even safely step outside the building. It was a little amusing to think of a former sub-visser spending his days in a cramped janitor's closet, I had to admit. It's good to know someone else has it worse than you. Plenty of other Yeerks had decided to run off with their host's families rather than let them be infested. I tried not to think about that too much.

Ben stopped in front of a "door" that looked exactly the same as every other makeshift room's flimsy opening. He balanced his food in one hand and struggled to turn to the latch that opened the door. I didn't offer a hand. He wouldn't have wanted me to.

The "room" was somehow more Spartan than I'd expected. There was a set of bunk beds--the only setup that would work in that space--and a single unit with two shelves. I recognized one of Ben's shirts, folded neatly on the bottom shelf. The bag I'd packed for him was shoved in the back corner.

Ben settled down on the lower bunk. He didn't offer me a seat. "You wanted to talk," he said, gesturing with his fork. "So go on."

I shifted uncomfortably, looking around the room before finally settling on leaning against the shelves. Now that we were here, and Ben was in front of me, I felt like I was at a loss. I was distinctly aware of the fact that Ben's neighbors could probably hear every word we said. Ben seemed unbothered by this, but he'd also perfected his poker face, so who knew. Maybe the lack of privacy was easy for ex-hosts. It wasn't like they weren't used to it.

"You're growing out your beard," I blurted out, truly the first thing that came to mind.

Ben lifted his hand to run his hand along his cheek. The dark brown hair there was just long enough right then to not count as stubble, but something deliberate. "Oh. Yeah. You didn't pack my razor." There was a moment of awkward silence. I shifted uneasily again. "But I kind of like it, so I think I'm keeping it." 

I nodded. It felt strange to talk about decisions Ben was making about his body. It was like talking to an ex-partner about what they'd been doing since you broke up--that awkward realization that you no longer knew every facet of that person's life.

"Did you come here just to ask about my facial hair?" Ben asked dryly. Really, everything he said was dry, which was extremely disconcerting.

"Uh, no," I started to say, but stopped at the sound of door latch being turned. Ben and I both turned to look as the door opened.

"You still up?" A voice asked as the door swung open. "You--oh, hey Jenny."

"You've got to be kidding me." Because of course.

At least that tiny smile was back. "Nick," Ben said, "you remember Priton."

"Oh, yeah. Hey." NIck was pulling his bandana off, and he tossed it haphazardly onto his own shelf. To Ben, Nick said, "You know, we should have some kind of signal if one of us is going to have someone over." He glanced over his shoulder at the door. "Guess we don't really have a doorknob to hang a sock from."

I might have enjoyed the way Ben's face reddened if I couldn't feel the answering heat creeping up my own neck. "It's not like that."

Nick shrugged. "Whatever. I feel like I'm about to pass out, so don't mind me." And then he climbed the side of the bunk bed--there were slats on the sides that made for a makeshift ladder--and disappeared over the top. 

"I should, uh, go," I said, eyeing what I could see of Nick, shifting around to arrange his blankets. This was a bad idea, for many reasons. But I didn't really want an audience.

"What? No, stay awhile." Ben gestured as if to draw me forward, but I stayed where I was, uneasy. This fact seemed to bolster Ben, because I could apparently only bring joy when I was unhappy. And no one has more ammo than the person who knows you best. The key, really, is to make sure the person who knows you better than anyone else doesn't also hate you.

Oops.

"What's it like being in someone else's head?" Ben asked, scooting forward so that could lean out from under Nick's bunk. He balanced his elbows on his knees, his dinner all but forgotten in his hands. "I bet you're thrilled with this arrangement."

"Stop." The way he'd said it piqued Jenny's curiosity. Great. "Don't."

"Hey Jenny," Ben continued. "You should've seen what a sad sack he was after you. He was mopey for _ages_."

<Really?> It was hard to interpret Jenny's tone when she wasn't sure what to think of that either.

"Shut up." I looked at the door, but didn't move toward it, instead half-hoping it would burst open and suck me back out. I felt a bit like a child who was being reprimanded for something he knew he'd done wrong. Waiting for the punishment he'd earned. 

"Why are you _here_ , Priton?" 

An excellent question that I'd been asked so many times now. "I wanted--" _To apologize_ was what came to mind. That's what you say when you've hurt someone, isn't it? You apologize and try to smooth things over. Except I wasn't sure that things could be smoothed over here. And anyway, "sorry" wasn't the right word for what I felt. "I'm sorry" was what you said when you accidentally walked into someone. It didn't _mean_ anything. It was a meaningless phrase that people said, a thousand times a day, for a thousand tiny, nothing reasons, for things they didn't mean to do. Saying I was sorry would have been a lie. Whatever I'd done, I'd meant to do, for better or for worse. Instead, I said, "I wanted to see if you were okay."

Ben shifted back, leaning away so that his blank face was shadowed by the bed above him, like he was afraid I'd read his thoughts from an expression that wasn't there. "Well," he said after a moment. "I'm fine." Neither of us said anything for a long minute. I couldn't quite look at him, but I felt Ben's eyes on me. Finally, he said, "If that's all you wanted... Go."

I went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was applying to college (11 years ago, jeez), one of the colleges I looked at had a policy of only giving single rooms in the dorms to upperclassmen. But, if you really, really needed one in your second year, you could live in a converted janitor's closet. Perks included your own sink and no windows. I don't know where they showered, because that dorm had bathrooms attached to the other rooms. I feel like having to share that space (and the communal bathroom) is actually worse.
> 
> Carris/Adam/Fiona are old RP characters I wrote in... 2011? Ish? I should honestly write a story just for them, living in a janitor's closet with a baby is honestly the least terrible thing that's ever happened to them.


	18. Guilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am writing this on June 1st, 2017 so--Happy 21st Birthday(ish) to Animorphs. It's also the arbitrary-but-not-really date I count as Priton's birthday. Fun fact of the day.
> 
> Also I did not mean for this turn to into a series. Sometimes these things happen.

Having a voluntary host was a different experience. Jenny and I slowly felt our way through figuring out a dynamic. It was a work in progress, which I'm told is how relationships are, anyway. She got grumpy if she didn't have control sometimes. I got grumpy when left in the pool longer than necessary. We overcame the awkwardness of nudity through grinning and bearing our way through it. I didn't give it much thought before then--it didn't mean the same thing to me--but I suppose Ben had seen it as part of a long list of personal invasions. One was not worse to him than another. Jenny quipped that usually she expected dinner first and then we silently agreed to pretend it didn't matter until eventually it didn't.

We saw Ben, but he didn't talk to us. He didn't talk to Jenny alone, either, which frustrated her. When she'd tried, he'd said, "There's no talking _privately_ to you." And then, at her hurt expression, he'd muttered, "Sorry," but it didn't change anything.

So. It was like that.

On the bright side, Jenny and I discovered we were a good team. She had infinitely more patience than I did--"You can't just decide someone is too stupid to get it because they won't immediately bend to your will"--and didn't have past sins deterring anyone from trusting her. I eventually worked out from where I knew the woman who seemed to hate me on sight my first night. I couldn't help that I'd been privy to a lot of involuntary infestations.

I wasn't sure what my contribution to this partnership was, exactly, aside from easier access to imperial spaces.

<You bring charm,> Jenny assured me.

I snorted at that. <I can provide you with a long list of people who can tell you how very uncharming I am.>

I could feel her desire to roll our eyes so strongly that I could have sworn our face vibrated. <You can be charming when you want something,> she clarified. <Or when you want to impress someone.> The mental image that filled our minds then was our first meeting, but from her perspective.

<You're proving my point. I think Gena hated me on sight.>

Jenny laughed, but didn't deny it. <She thought you were trying to flirt. She wasn't too impressed.>

<Well, no, she wouldn't be.> That hadn't been what I was trying to do at the time, but I didn't deny it anyway.

Our regular day job kept us busy enough to keep our minds occupied and away from things that were harder to swallow--like the dangers of being part of what was basically a rebel organization, no matter what they called themselves. The sorry state of my personal life. The utter discomfort that was inherent in that last one even being a thing.

Most of the customers we got at the antique store were old ladies and middle-aged yuppies. They asked a lot of questions that we didn't know the answers to, and sometimes they asked us things that were just absurd. Like if we carried any more modern styles. Jenny thought they meant _modern_ , like, mid-century or whatever, but no. No, they didn't.

I was finishing up sweeping in the back when she came in one day. It was late summer. There was the odd feeling knowing that school was starting soon, but that that meant nothing for me. Granted, I'd left before the previous year had finished, and I hated teaching anyway, but it was strange to feel the oncoming dread of September and then realize that it was unnecessary.

Anyway, as I was putting the broom away, my manager emerged from somewhere to tell me there was a customer who needed help. Great. But when I found her, frowning down at the price tag on a coffee table, with her greying dark hair pulled back and her giant purse pulled over her shoulder, I stopped dead in my tracks.

I think that, for most Yeerks in my position, our relationship to our host's family is, at best, uncomfortable. Nowadays, I huddled in the back of my mind while Jenny chatted to her brother on the phone or tried to talk her parents through the intricacies of e-mail. When Jenny's cousin and aunt visited while on a college tour, I stayed in the pool for three days until they went home.

It's awkward. It's painful, even in the best of situations. And even if you _liked_ them--and Ben and Jenny's families were frustratingly likable, at least to me--there was the fact that everything about your relationship was an utter lie. And I don't think it would have been better if it had been otherwise.

Truth be told, I hadn't given a lot of thought to Ben's family since our... departure. It's easier not to feel guilty about things that you don't think about. If I'd given them any thought, it would have been to hope that having a known Controller in their family who suddenly went missing wouldn't have an effect on them. I don't know if Ben realized that was a thing that could happen. He certainly hadn't in the heat of the moment.

So I didn't know if I was currently hiding behind a display because the person on the other side was Eileen. I did know that it made me feel like an idiot.

At least the next time I tried to talk to Ben, we'd have something to talk about.

"Can I help you with something, ma'am?" 


	19. Rules

"Hey! Map Girl!"

"My name," the girl in question ground out, as she stopped, "is Beth."

"I'm never going to remember that," I told her cheerfully. One of life's simpler pleasures was getting on the nerves of people who had previously gotten on mine. According to Jenny, this was exactly why I needed reminders to behave. I was also apparently not meant to find the fact that people complained about me to her amusing. So many rules. "I need you to take me upstairs." I had waylaid her at the pool as she was going to join the other temporarily free humans.

"Have you forgotten how elevators work?" she asked dryly as she made to step around me.

I let her pass but followed anyway. "I mean up to B1."

"I don't live up there," she informed me, as though this were the end of things. 

"But your..." I waggled my fingers at her, having no clue what to call someone you shared a Yeerk with. "Nick lives there," I finally settled on. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind a visit from you." I offered my most winning smile. Unsurprisingly, Beth seemed unaffected. 

"Can't Jenny go?" 

"Nope." I said this with an air of finality. Nick probably wouldn't object to Jenny, but he also didn't seem the type to go against his roommate's wishes. Bastard. 

<We seriously need to have a talk about invasions of privacy,> Jenny said, as if she weren't in on this, too.

<I know, I'm very naughty.>

<Oh  _God,_ don't say it like that.>

I could only grin, which had the unintended, but not unwelcome, effect of causing Beth to say, "Ugh. Fine. Come on." If only other humans were so easy to force into acquiescence, the invasion would have been over years ago. As I followed after her, feeling very pleased with myself, I caught her eyeing me skeptically. "What's in the box?"

"This?" I pulled out the box that I'd been holding from under my arm. It was a plain white box with a now very squished ribbon tied around it. Gena's girlfriend, Trin, had watched me struggle with it for ten minutes before saying, "Oh my God, _stop_. Give that to me," because apparently my efforts were too horrendous to be allowed out of the apartment. Jenny had informed me that her utter lack of skill in gift wrapping was why every gift she'd ever given came in a bag. All the gift bags we had were either Christmas or Birthday themed, though, and it was September. It was probably best that Trin wasn't there to see what I'd managed to do to her handiwork. To Beth, I said, "It's a book." She was looking at it like it might be a bomb. Honestly, I needed to work on my image.

Beth raised her eyebrows skeptically, but shrugged. "Whatever." She led the way back to the elevator, whose doors opened immediately when she pushed the up arrow button. When we stopped at B1, she told me that was as far as she was going. Fine by me.

Their room was empty, mercifully. It took at least three tries to find the right door, but at least I didn't run into anyone on the way. I left the box on Ben's bed. There was no note, but I doubted it needed one. It wasn't the same book, because finding other copies of most of Ben's books would have been nigh on impossible, since most of them were out of print. Still, I thought Ben would remember.

* * *

 

"What the hell is this?"

A book was being thrust under my nose, so close to my face that the cover blurred. I very calmly tried to grasp the wrist attached to the hand forcing it in front of my eyes, to lower it, but it retracted suddenly as though I'd lit it on fire. I sighed, turning to face Ben. "I thought you'd like it."

My delivery made, I had gone back downstairs to feed, and was making my way back out before Ben waylaid me in the elevator hallway on the main floor. I wondered how he'd known to wait there, but it didn't really matter, I guess.

"You thought I'd like it," Ben repeated. It was strange witnessing his anger, not only because I was witnessing it from the outside, but because his expression didn't really change. There was just a slight twitch in his cheek. 

I tapped the cover with my index finger, careful this time not to touch him. "Toy ray guns," I said. "Isn't that your genre?"

Ben pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand, like I was giving him a headache. I felt the same thrill at this gesture as I did when Ben swore--that little feeling of  _yes, that's one of mine._ "What is wrong with you?" Was it me, or did he sound tired? It was so hard to tell. And was it strange that I missed him asking me that?

"How much time do you have?" I asked. I meant to keep my tone light, but there was an edge to it. "We could be here for a while if I tried to list it all." When he just looked at me, I said, "It's a peace offering."

Ben just looked at me. He was still holding the book out like he wanted me to take it. "Please, Ben?" I wondered if I sounded like a sad sack now.

Finally, he lowered his arm, tucking the book away. He _did_ look tired now, I was sure of it. "Ground rules," he said. "What happened... before. It's not an inside joke."

"Okay," I agreed immediately, bolstered by the fact that if we were setting rules, surely that meant he was willing to talk to me again.

"And you can't come into my room when I'm not there." I nodded. "When I tell you to go, you have to go." I nodded again, and Ben sighed. "I really hate you."

"I know," I said, suppressing a smile. Because he didn't really. At least a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trin's name is Trinity, because I created her in 1999 and I might have been a little obsessed with The Matrix at the time. I regret so many things.
> 
> Much more relevant: Beth/Nick/et. al. are probably the subject of Part 3 and I am looking forward to it so much. It will be infinitely shorter than this. Thank God.


	20. Boom

This potential recruit was a lot more affable than I'd expected him to be.

It wasn't hard to work out why the Sharing was looking at him. Jenny said that you could practically smell his trust fund. I'd learned that everyone at BT had a file, though whoever gave out the information was awfully stingy. I hadn't even gotten to see my own, though I thought I probably wouldn't like whatever it said, anyway. This guy's file said he came from old money. He had two degrees, from two different ivy league schools. His mother was a brilliant--for a human--physicist, which was probably at least half the reason they wanted the son. And after five minutes of talking to him, I'd already gotten the impression that he was absolutely the sort of guy who'd accept an alien slug in his head in the interest of science. It was a good thing no one had told the folks at the Sharing that yet, I suppose.

What I was less clear on was what Brain Trust wanted with him. It's not like we didn't have other smart, affable people. Maybe no one who could make you feel poor just by existing, but if that was what they wanted, why not recruit his physicist mother? Or his father--though I couldn't work out what he did, he seemed to be the source of the "old money" bit.

Recruiting uninfested humans was always tricky. They mostly came from the Sharing's leavings, honestly. The problem was that telling someone that their planet was being invaded by aliens was a good way to cause a panic, and it's hard to get them to listen to you when you tell them you're on their side if you have to admit you're not actually trying to stop the whole world domination thing.

This was our second point of contact. Harry--Trust Fund Guy--had told us to meet him at this cafe by the university, though when we got there it was clear that it wasn't the sort of place that college students hung out. Everything on the menu was way above my paygrade. It felt like the sort of place where big money deals went down.

"They've got great pie here," he told me as we sat down. When the waitress came 'round, I ordered a coke and nothing else. As we waited, Harry leaned forward over the table and asked, "So. Your organization's connected to the Sharing?"

"Er... not really." I broke my gaze away from what it had fixated on--why were there so many forks?--to focus on the man in front of me. "You could say we kind of... splintered off over a difference in values." To put it mildly. "How long have you been associated with them?"

"Not long. Couple weeks." He leaned back to unfold his napkin. "A friend recommended it. I really like the sound of their philanthropist bent, you know? And they seem very... accepting." He was looking at me as though trying to see a reaction, but I genuinely had no idea what he was talking about. "And they said they've got members I could talk to for advice on getting my PhD, which is a nice added bonus."

I nodded along, trying to look attentive. "What do you want to get your PhD in?"

"Chemistry." Harry grinned, a little self-deprecatingly. "Kind of predictable. That's what I studied in undergrad and for my master's. I might think about teaching it, but I'm not a hundred percent sure." When I shuddered, he asked, "What?"

"Nothing, I think I'm under an air vent."

"Do you want to switch spots?" He started to rise, but I waved him away. He settled back down in his seat. "Anyway, I haven't decided anything yet. I kind of wanted to take some time off after all the work I had to put into my thesis."

"Oh yeah?" I was trying to think of a way to get us back on track without being rude. People were a lot less responsive when they thought you were being rude. "What was it on?"

He looked sheepish for some reason. "Oh, well. It was kind of complicated, but the main topic, I guess, was explosives."

Oh.

* * *

 

The next time I'd seen Ben, I hadn't had to go looking for him. This time he came to me. Three days after what I was optimistically calling our truce, Ben marched up to me by the pool and thrust the book I'd given him at me. "This is literally the worst thing I've ever read," he'd informed me. "Your taste is absolute trash."

"Okay." A beat. "I can get you more."

Somehow, some way, I had become Ben's librarian. 

"There's nowhere for me to keep them," Ben had told me after I complained. I didn't actually mind, and he knew better than to listen to my whining. I think he was enjoying the shift in our power dynamic. At any rate, he seemed to take great joy in telling me to get lost, but he also let me hang around before he did so. Progress.

 Because I was a Yeerk of my word--sometimes--I was fairly limited in where I could go to find Ben. That wasn't usually a problem, since when he was ready he usually came to find me. But I knew him, and I knew how to work out patterns. It took some trial and error, but Ben was a creature of habit. It was just a matter of figuring out his new habits. If this bothered Ben, he apparently thought it was the lesser of possible annoyances.

He liked eating late because the break room was less busy then. I could respect not wanting to make small talk if you didn't have to, and interacting socially on your own terms. When I found him, it was about eleven-thirty at night, and the only other person there was a girl I didn't know, standing by one of the microwaves. She was the only one who glanced up when I walked in, but only briefly. Ben was sitting at one of the few tables, the empty container of whatever he'd been eating next to him while he read his latest book. He was nearly finished already. 

If I thought he hadn't noticed me, I was wrong, because as I approached, he asked, "Who is it?"

"Me." I answered without thinking. I wasn't actually trying to be a dick, honest. Not today, anyway.

Ben looked at me finally, and sighed. "Didn't I just see you yesterday?"

"Yeah." I glanced at the girl at the microwaves, who was politely ignoring us. "Can we go somewhere? You know, private?"

If this had been a few weeks earlier, I was sure that Ben would have said no, either just because he could or because he didn't trust me as far as he could throw me--a strange human expression, by the way, that didn't work as well if you took "me" to mean my natural state. Sometimes he said no and then agreed anyway, which was more than moderately confusing.

Ben looked over his shoulder just as the microwave beeped. After a moment, it seemed clear that our company wasn't leaving, so he said, "All right," and shut his book. 

I waited while he tossed out his trash, then followed him out into the hallway. I expected him to head for the elevator, but instead he turned in the opposite direction and led me through the labyrinth of offices and rooms without obvious purpose. We finally stopped in front of a door marked "Accounting."

"Do we have an accounting department?" I wondered aloud. 

"Seriously?" Ben shook his head at me. "Who do you think budgets around here?"

I shrugged. Honestly, the everyday goings on around the place weren't really on my radar.

"No one comes down this way at night and the door's never locked," Ben told me as he led us in. "And they've got the most comfortable chairs."

The office was small and a bit cramped with two desks, a filing cabinet, and a potted plant that had seen better days. "Cozy," I commented as Ben dropped into one of the desk chairs. I retrieved the chair from the second desk and rolled it around so that I could face him. There was a space of at least five feet between us, which seemed to be a safe distance. Letting Ben determine space and contact was the best idea, I'd found. He'd nearly jumped a foot in the air when I accidentally bumped him a few weeks ago. I felt like the much maligned middle man here. I knew Ben would have loathed me regardless of what I'd done, that he would have hated any other Yeerk in equal measure. I wasn't innocent, but it still felt like I was fighting an uphill battle to atone for more than just my own sins.

"I know this is a sore subject," I began, "so don't yell at me, okay?" Ben's only response was a non-committal grunt, so I soldiered on, "When you joined the Sharing, did you think they were more accepting than most of... uh..." I waved my hand at him vaguely. I had no idea how to say this. Humans are so sensitive sometimes.

"Of what?" Ben asked. "Nerdy Jews? People with brown hair? Mental disabilities?"

I stared at him blankly for a moment before saying, "Er, no. I meant people who are..." I grasped weakly for a word. <Help me here,> I entreated Jenny.

<...Not hetero?> 

"Not straight," I finally offered.

Ben stared at me balefully. I think. "Why do you always insist that I'm gay?"

"I don't. You're not. There are more than two options." I lifted my hands in a helpless gesture. "For God's sake, I only know that because you do."

Ben's lips disappeared into a flat line. "Did you seriously come find me just to talk about my sexuality?"

"No." I really hadn't. "I was just talking to a possible recruit, and he mentioned that was part of the Sharing's draw for him and, you know. I wondered." Somewhere on the drive home, Jenny had had an "aha!" moment--which, frankly, were always kind of amusing to watch. Like the mental equivalent of watching a balloon slowly fill with air until it burst, sudden and loud.

Ben didn't say anything for a moment. "Don't _you_ know? What I was thinking, I mean?"

"I don't have an encyclopedic knowledge of everything you ever thought," I told him dryly. "Believe it or not, that's not really the stuff that sticks." This was probably the most frank discussion we'd ever had, but it wasn't really the reason I was there. Well, not the main reason. " _Anyway_. I was talking to this guy, and he's a Chemist, and he seems like he's some kind of explosives expert."

I paused. Ben just looked at me with what I decided was his confused face. Or at least, his right eyebrow twitched vaguely. "Okay. And?"

 "What would we need an explosives expert for?"

Ben seemed to think about that for a moment. "Maybe they want to expand. How'd the main Yeerk pool get built?"

"Taxxons." And Earth construction equipment.

"Oh." He scratched at the underside of his chin, which I'd taken to thinking of as his thoughtful pose. "Are you actually worried that there's something shady going on?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure what I'd actually count as shady, honestly." I crossed my arms and turned my head away. 

"Well. We're not exactly safe here. You know that." When I nodded, Ben continued, "If I was running a subversive organization, I'd want people who could keep things running. Organizers. Accountants. Security." I saw him shift around from the corner of my eye. "Honestly, you should be more worried if they're not thinking about security." I nodded again because he was right, and these were all things that I had thought of, too. "Anyway, what would you even do if things were going bad?" When I looked at Ben again, his face was almost a grimace. "You're kind of all in."

What I would do if everything went to hell was grab Ben and Jenny and run and say to hell with everyone else, but I didn't tell him that. "I guess. Still. Probably better to worry too much than too little."

Ben was silent for a moment, then said, "Yeah, probably." 

I stood. "Well. That was it. I just... wanted to talk it out with someone else. Besides Jenny, I mean." I turned and rolled my chair back into its spot and prepared to leave.

"Okay. I guess." As I got to the door, though, Ben said suddenly, "You need to start bringing me longer books, you know. I'm almost done with the one you gave me yesterday."

I turned to look at him. He was still holding the book he'd been reading, his index finger inserted between the pages to hold his place. "I can bring you the new Harry Potter book. That'll take you at least..." I thought about it. "Three days. You'll like it, it's pretty good."

Ben raised an eyebrow at me. "I didn't know you could read."

"Ha ha. She made me." I pointed at myself, but assumed Ben knew I meant Jenny.

"That makes a lot more sense." Ben swiveled in his chair then, opening his book. "Bye Priton."

"Night, Ben."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm never going to be fully comfortable writing Ben's thoughts on his sexuality, to be honest. Between him and Priton I'm in for a world of awkwardness.
> 
> On a less serious note, I realized while writing this that "Ben and Jenny" is very close to "Ben and Jerry" and I apologize if this makes anyone crave ice cream, because it's really making me want some.
> 
> Fun game for you all to play: "What Year Does This Take Place In?" I will tell you now that there's no winning this game, because I'm being intentionally vague so I can drop late 90's references willy nilly. We have already discussed my status as a fail.


	21. Middleman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another interlude.
> 
> Or: Jenny ships it.

_**Jenny** _

Don't throw your whole life away for a boy, and don't trust strangers on the internet.

Both sound pieces of advice that my mother had given me at some point. The first when I was fifteen and had my first boyfriend and let him consume all of my free time. The second was after she watched an exposé on TV over Christmas about email scams--this, immediately after my brother spent two hours setting up their AOL account and explaining how it worked. Poor Noah.

To be fair, she wasn't really _wrong_. My first boyfriend turned out to be less my knight in shining armor and more of a jealous control freak. And, shocker, there are a lot of weirdos online.

But I'm a terrible daughter who doesn't listen to her mother.

One night, when I was at home alone on a night when Gena had a class and there was nothing good on TV to distract me, I booted up our computer and spent a couple aimless hours on the internet. I thought the chatroom name "Sharing Rejects" was kind of funny, so I joined and found a group of people who mostly wanted to make fun of the Sharing's too earnest message, and it was fun, you know? It lessened the sting of rejection to share dumb stories with other people. In retrospect, that chatroom was absolutely being watched. Some time after I told a version of my story--"You think that stuff's bad, they didn't even _want_ me in their dumb club"--I got a message from someone and, well, I probably got lucky that the person watching the chatroom that night was one of the "good" guys.

The fact that Earth was being invaded was hard to swallow. The fact that this organization I'd gotten wrapped up in for one, strange month was just a front was--well, okay, maybe they were a little too nice to be real humans. And the fact that the guy I'd been there for in the first place--with his funny sarcasm and lazy grin, the one I'd thought was definitely into me, the one who'd told me to leave--that one. That was totally an alien.

We don't talk about it. There's not a whole lot _to_ talk about.

There was no real way to avoid awkwardness with Ben, I think. When it was just me, I tried seeking him, thinking he might appreciate the familiar face, and he seemed to. He wasn't what I expected, but what I expected wasn't fair, and I did actually liked him as he was. Some people, after they've been hosts for a long time, get that glazed look. Like everything takes a little longer to process because their brains aren't used to doing things for themselves anymore. I think it's worse for people who were involuntary, but I couldn't tell you why. It gets better. Honestly. Priton thinks Ben's hard to read now, but he was worse in the beginning. It was hard to tell if he even liked you and wanted you around, until I eventually worked out that if Ben doesn't like you, he just won't talk to you. Boy was remarkably good at going "lights out, nobody's home" and I wasn't sure that was just his brain getting used to functioning again, because I'd seen Priton shut down just as fast when he didn't want to deal with something. No one can hurt you if they can't get to you.

 Most of the time, I felt like I was half-drug dealer, half-matchmaker.

I didn't really mind either. It was kind of weird, but it wasn't much weirder than anything else about the situation. And we were surrounded by weirdness all day, every day, anyway. Welcome to Brain Trust, we're all a little weird here.

A playground down the street was getting paved over for a new parking lot. Too bad for the kids, I guess, but their picnic tables ended up getting repurposed as seating in our pool. It seemed dumb to complain about not having enough places to hang out during feedings, considering the alternative. There were members who had to use the main Yeerk pool in the city to maintain their cover. No one really wanted to have to switch places with those guys.

Priton, who thought he was so smooth, would casually mention when we got off work--"I can't believe we have to close again on Thursday," or "I can't believe we got Saturday off, it's got to be a mistake"--so Ben would know when to come down. Because I guess just talking about it like adults instead of beating around the bush and hoping the other got the hint was too hard. They were both ridiculous.

"You're late."

I was sitting with my back against one of the picnic tables, waiting for Priton. I turned at the sound of the familiar voice. Case in point, I guess. "Yeah, traffic was nuts getting out of the city. I think there was some big event going on." Swinging around to face Ben, I settled my elbows on the table and cupped my chin in my hands. "Priton's still got, like, half an hour, I'd say."

"Oh." The corner of Ben's mouth turned down slightly. He glanced down at the book he was holding, then back at me. "Well, I can give this to you, right?" He held it out.

"You could," I said, not moving to take it from him. "But if you want what we brought, I'd wait for Priton."

Ben scrunched up his face. This was new. "Why?"

I shrugged. "He wants to give it to you. I don't make the rules, I just follow them." I wondered if there was an award for dealing with their stubbornness. I got where it was all coming from, really, but this weird limbo we were stuck in was a little much for an outsider. I gently pushed the book back towards Ben. "He wants to see you. He wants to know if it was any good."

"Can't I just tell you?"

I smiled. "I'd love to know what you thought about the book--I helped pick it out. Priton has no idea what makes for good sci-fi." That made Ben snort. "And he misses you." I was not supposed to say that, but it was the truth and it felt like someone had to say it. If it was left to Priton, we'd all go to our graves before he confessed to having a genuine emotion, even one that was obvious.

Ben's expression had returned to its usual blankness. "I don't see why. There's nothing from me that he can't get from you."

It's always hard to tell if Ben means to be rude, or if it just sounds that way when he speaks without inflection. So far, assuming the latter had worked out all right. "I meant _you_ , dumby, not your body."

"Oh." He seemed to absorb this for a moment, then said, "I'll, uh, come back later."

I opened my mouth to tell him he was welcome to hang around with me, but he was already turning on his heel and walking away. I sighed. It was surprising those two didn't get on better. They were equally melodramatic.


	22. Lost

<There are Yeerk pools where we're going.>

<I know.>

<It's literally an hour drive from the nearest city, and we're renting a car.>

<I'm sure you'll have a great time.>

Jenny groaned. <Why do I even stay with you?>

<Humans love a lost cause.>

Jenny's family was much bigger than Ben's--not that that took very much--with her two still living parents and a brother, and even three out of four grandparents still kicking around. And what Jenny insisted was a perfectly normal number of aunts, uncles, cousins and assorted others she wasn't sure her relation to, but who were, apparently, _definitely_ family. Granted my experiences were at pretty polar extremes--about a thousand siblings, give or take, and I suppose many more thousands of "cousins" by human definitions, but siblings was already too much to acknowledge, thank you--and on the other end of extremes, there was Ben's three-person family. 

Family reunions were an unwelcome addition to my experience of how these things worked.

In my defense, I was letting Jenny have time on her own with her family, which was surely a good thing. I didn't think it was hypocritical of me, since these circumstances were far different from the last time I'd had to worry about such things with a host. And anyway, where Jenny was going, they were calling for snow. I was happy to do without snow forever. The only time I'd even seen snow was in a host's memories, or the Christmas cards that I wasn't allowed to throw out, even as they cluttered up valuable real estate in the apartment. The only cards Ben had ever received was the occasional one from his parents' old friends, and the one uninfested teacher in the history department who complained endlessly about "political correctness" and how "no one says 'merry Christmas' anymore," until I wished fervently for her to be taken already. And, for some reason, his car insurance company. I never got so much as a twinge of complaint for tossing those immediately.

One of the unexpected benefits of having a voluntary host--at least in our very specific circumstances--was that Jenny could go without me. Keeping cover was our job, but it didn't always require two people. It would have been my favorite thing about the arrangement, except that paradoxically my favorite thing was being mentally entwined with Jenny. It was very comfortable. It was easy. Which was not to say that she and I never argued, because we did. Frequently. Mostly about how I had all the sensitivity of a wet towel. Which is probably true, so we also argued about how stubborn I was. But I suppose there's a difference between arguments and arguments with someone you have a relationship with, and would like to continue having said relationship.

And so while Jenny planned to see her extended family on a trip over the holidays, I looked forward to a week in the pool. We were both only kind of happy with this arrangement, which I insisted was better than one of us being completely miserable.

<Be good,> Jenny admonished me as she dropped me off.

<No promises,> I returned. <You be careful. No skiing into trees.>

There was a funny sound as I disengaged, in that moment where I relinquished my hold on our lungs. A snort of laughter that began as pure thought ended as a little puff of air through newly freed nostrils. I didn't hear her response, but I didn't really need to.

* * *

 

Time moves differently in the pool. So much of a species' concept of time revolves around their environment, and Yeerks have filtered through so many. A day on home world is different from a day on Hork-Bajir is different from a day on Taxxon is different from a day on Earth. I wondered who had the sorry job of working out how time converted with each new planet, or how we learned to tell time in the vacuum of space. I imagine these things are recorded somewhere, by someone, if a person's really dying to find out. Somewhere was someone's recorded notes, I was sure, like "one home world day equals four-point-seven Hork-Bajir days" and "one day on home world is equal to two-point-nine-eight Earth days." 

The interfaces in the pool had Earth and Yeerk dates. On the twenty-sixth of December, Jenny was supposed to return home. On the twenty-seventh, I reasoned that she'd gotten in late, had probably gone straight home, fallen asleep. I knew her itinerary, and knew she was due in during the early afternoon, but planes get delayed all the time. Nobody wants to deal with traffic that soon after getting home. Literally anyone would want an extra day away from me. There were a lot of explanations, frankly.

By the first of January, I was decidedly more concerned.

There was a party, which I'd have probably been glad to miss under normal circumstances. There was apparently no alcohol, because who knows what this crowd would have said when their inhibitions were gone, but there was a rumor that someone tried to sneak in some oatmeal.

We had a thing very like e-mail in the pool. Our interfaces only connected to interfaces outside of it, or to computers in offices upstairs and any other place run by Brain Trust, like the recruitment office I'd been to. Most of the messages I got were the same organization-wide messages that turned up in everyone's inbox. That night, there was a small multitude.

"Reminder to HQ residents that everyone should pick up after themselves in public areas."

"My host's kid is selling girl scout cookies. If you want a box--or six--message me."

"Happy Chanukkah! Merry Christmas! Happy Solstice! Happy Kwanzaa! from Your Friendly Integration Committee."

"Reminder to all Brain Trust members, but especially those attending our New Year's party, that consent is only valid if _all_ parties involved agree."

A long chain in reply to a message about cleaning hair out of the shower drains, and then another message reminding everyone that "The Reply All Button is not a toy!"

And then, there was one direct message, just for me. _Where are you?_

I contemplated answering with sarcasm--"You only want to know where your next book is"--or not at all. He got very adamant about how he didn't owe me explanations for anything, ever, and surely it was only fair that that went both ways. I was not in the mood today to be meek and repentant--two things anyone could tell you I was terrible at, anyway.

I replied.

A reply returned faster than I expected.  _You worried?_

_No. I'm annoyed._

I could imagine Ben reading that, could envision him tilting his head to the side with that little ghost of a smile of his while he contemplated that obvious lie.  _Do you want me to ask around?_

_Yes._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As discussed, a lot of characters in this are characters I've written for years, in various mediums/stories/etc. The difficulty sometimes with adapting old characters for new settings--whether it's a fandom change or just a different AU setting--is figuring out who they are at the point I'm placing them. Some characters, like Nick's Yeerk-Share Brother, James, has been written in so many places across so much time that he's basically a mostly-filled in template where I just add in extra details--Military Background (or In-Universe equivalent), crappy relationship with his father... dead mother, which I didn't realize until now was a consistency, oops. Other characters, like Priton, have stayed essentially the same at the basic level--dickish rebel Yeerk with a fondness for humanity, mostly despite himself--but with depth that's been added as time goes on--now he's a dickish rebel Yeerk with a fondness for humanity, mostly despite himself, with actual honest-to-God motivations. That sounds like such a simple change, but let me tell you. I figure out the "what" and the "why" at very different times.
> 
> On the other end of the spectrum, there's Ben, who I've written once before this. And his main attribute then was that he was Priton's host before the events of the story they were in. Figuring out how they got from Point A (See Chapter 1 of this fic) to Point B (My 18 year late realization of "...This relationship is not platonic") has been the Main Author Struggle.
> 
> And then there's Jenny. Who started her life as a terrible Mary Sue RP character, who has survived so many rewrites because she was my first and I'm a sucker like that. A key to her Mary Sue-ness was her Damsel-in-Distress-itis. Which I might be playing off here.
> 
> Is this a fanfic or the Author's Redemption Arc? Why not both?


	23. Redux

The key to survival, I've found, was two things. First, being choosy about who you cared about--minimizing the ways to hurt you, minimizing the people you might do something incredibly stupid for. Second, finding people who had skills that you lacked.

Despite what Jenny said, my skills did not lie in making people like me. Charming a possible recruit was one thing, but I couldn't be "on" all the time. I got the impression that there were those who didn't  _mind_ me, in certain doses, because there are always those too forgiving souls out there, even in an environment like ours. Though I suppose we'd have to have a fair amount of forgiving people, or the whole concept of peace would fall apart.

At any rate, I didn't know anyone who knew Jenny and seemed to actively dislike her--or else those who did were very polite about it--and as far as I could tell, people liked Ben. I had never thought his loneliness had been due to a lack of likability, frankly, unless you were the sort who mistook "shy" for "standoffish." Hell, _I'd_ liked him, and I knew no more ringing endorsement than one from someone who has seen every dark corner of another person's brain. No one really wants someone else to know every minute facet of their entire life. Even voluntaries, I think, had those moments of "oh, shit, now someone knows about that one really embarrassing thing" sometimes. In my experience, though, the things humans found shameful about themselves weren't usually the same things Yeerks gave a shit about. Unless you got a Yeerk who enjoyed mentally torturing their host. You were kind of fucked no matter what then. 

A few days after my exchange with Ben, I found another message from him. It was slightly buried under another chain of messages, this one a drug PSA--"Reminders on the Dangers of Oatmeal"--but it said only that he couldn't find anyone who'd talked to Jenny since she left. A week later, there were no missing persons reports. 

_On the bright side,_ Ben said,  _if she'd been caught by the Empire, we'd know._

We had very different ideas about what "on the bright side" meant. I would not have put possible infestation at the top of my list of worries, but of course Ben would.   _Right. Where else is there to look?_

_I don't know. That's all I've got._

If I'd had the appropriate body parts at the moment, I'd have sighed. There were so many things that could go wrong. Axe murderers. Horrible accidents. Imprisonment. Jenny was hardly the criminal sort, but most human laws were just stupid. I had paid taxes on two separate occasions, and still had no idea what tax fraud was. I'd also watched entirely too much Judge Judy.

_Thanks, Ben._

I didn't expect a reply, mostly because one didn't seem necessary. When I next checked my messages, though, there was one waiting.

_You're welcome._

* * *

I don't remember who messaged who first. Boredom and worry made me antsy. I knew Ben had to be bored, too.

_I did do other things before you, you know._

_Okay._

_Do you just say "okay" when most people would say "sorry," or are you really that much of a pain?_

I felt like that was a good place to change the subject.

There's a human saying--"no news is good news." I don't know who invented that phrase, but they were clearly an idiot. A full month passed, which was excessive. There was nothing for me to really do except worry, and harass Ben. There was something reassuringly familiar about being a pain in his ass. Like we were getting back to the kind of status quo I liked--one where we argued and took pot shots at each other, but this time without the guilt and, I thought, without the malice. I didn't know if this was healthy, but it certainly felt a lot better.

And then, one day there was a message from "Essar Seven-One-Eight, Administrative Office," which said simply,  _There is a message for you upstairs._ How informative.

_I would love to come get it, but I'm unhosted. What is it?_

_Someone is coming to get you._ No sooner had this message come through that it was followed by a message telling me to report to the infestation pier. "Someone is coming to get you." I suddenly felt like a child. Marvelous. But I still obeyed, because what else was I going to do?

A new brain is always strange. You get so accustomed to one thing, one point of view, one extra voice inside your head, and it becomes your normal. Like that's what it's always been. Part of that, probably, is being connected to a brain that knows what it's processing. The body knows what's right and what's not, it doesn't care who's in charge. You might need reminding of the little details, but the body soldiers on whether you can mentally keep up or not. As I swam to the infestation pier to wait my turn, I prepared myself for this. I didn't _just_ dislike the ideas of switching between hosts because I was a jerk. The first days feel like running a mental marathon.

This, though, I realized as I began my journey out of the pool, was not new.

This was familiar. I knew it the moment palp met grey matter. A sensation of knowing that I don't know that I could explain to someone who hasn't experienced it. A feeling of familiarity, like going back to a place you haven't seen in a long time, but everything's just where you didn't know you remembered it being. Old, familiar brain patterns like a comforting blanket, like a _welcome home._ I was an alien on a planet far from a home I would probably never see, living among a people who weren't mine, and a people who were mine but whose majority ideology I didn't share. I didn't belong anywhere, really, but here, here there was the closest approximation I had found thus far.

That probably meant there was something very wrong with me, all things considered, but we'd already determined that.

<Don't.> The first word I heard as I slipped into the crevices of his brain. <Don't say it.>

<I literally haven't said a thing.>

<This is a temporary thing,> he continued, a little too insistently, like he expected me to argue even as I could see he wasn't sure about that. <This is just for Jenny.>

<Yes.>

<I'm trying to help a friend.>

<I understand.> I felt giddy. Like a kid who's just been told he can pick whatever he wants from a candy store. The feeling was stronger, I think, for some need to counterbalance the worry and guilt that had been my constant companions. It didn't mask them, just gave me something to hold onto. A torch in a dark tunnel. A life preserver in a rolling sea. 

Ben "sighed." I was a hopeless case. He really ought to have known that by now. <Let's go then. You can, uh, find the way, right?>

<Yes.> I had never been to this office we were going to, but Ben had just been, and he'd had nine months to look around. An indistinct map was there in his brain, half clear cut directions--left here, right there--half landmarks--past the broken water cooler no one knew how to fix--but this was the one thing I knew how to do well. Taking the puzzle pieces Ben's brain gave me and putting them together into a picture. Technically, it was a skill any Yeerk with a host had, but I wanted to think for a moment that I was especially good at it. Everyone needs a win sometimes, even the undeserving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate People Like Us summary: All my Yeerk headcanons, in story form.


	24. Call

The administration office, like every office I'd seen at HQ, was small and filled to capacity. It was big enough to include a whole  _three_ desks and _two_ filing cabinets, which might be how I was going to measure spaces from now. There was only one person--well, one body--there when I entered, a woman behind the closest desk to the door. The nameplate on her desk said "Maria / Essar 718." She looked up as we came in, and immediately lifted the phone receiver from where it had been resting on her desk and held it out, only saying "Jenny Anders, for you" by way of explanation.

I felt my heart beating wildly in my chest--funny how fast a sense of possession takes hold--and I didn't realize my hands were shaking until I took the phone and felt it jerk painfully against my face as I held it to my ear. The words that pushed themselves out were probably not the right ones, but when are they ever?  _"Where are you?"_

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment, and I might have worried she wasn't really there if there wasn't the slightest sound of hitched breath coming down the line. Then, "Well hello to you, too, P." Her voice sounded strange, and I wondered, belatedly, if she'd even recognize Ben's voice over the phone. 

<Pee?> Ben echoed. <Like...>

<I know. Shut up.> There were not a whole lot of ways to shorten "Priton." They were literally all bad. "Yes, hi, _where are you?"_

"Uh... Colorado?" 

"Colo--why?" Of all the places I'd expected her to be, exactly where she'd meant to go originally was not one of them.

Jenny laughed a short, humorless laugh. "If I told you I was working, would you believe me?"

"No."

"Well, I am." I heard her sigh. "It's a really long story. Don't worry."

"Who's worried?" My voice cracked on the last word. I glanced at Maria/Essar, who was looking back at me with a polite expression on her face. I turned my back, pulling the phone around by its cord. An audience of two was already too many for a breakdown. 

"I'm sorry," Jenny said, her voice gentler this time. I felt my throat constricting. I wanted to tell her not to apologize. Apologies always made it worse. "The thing is," she continued, "I don't currently have a way to get home--"

"I'll come get you," I said immediately, without thinking. As if she were stranded just up the road instead of however far away Colorado was. I had no idea, but I thought it was far. It _looked_ far on a map. I had barely expanded my range of places I'd been in three years, and every place I'd been had been in California. But action made me feel better. I needed something to do after a month of nothing.

<Are you crazy?>

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and then Jenny said, "That's not what I--I mean. Okay. But, um. There's a... thing." I could hear her moving around through the phone. "You should bring a van."

* * *

 

<I have some reservations.>

I was strolling out of the office, a list in hand, and feeling... well, I wasn't sure what I was feeling, actually. Like a plan was half-forming. When I'd gotten off the phone, I'd stared at it for a minute before asking, "Where the hell am I supposed to get a van?" and then Maria/Essar had very helpfully made me up a list. It was a very short list, of a guy who worked at a car rental place by the airport and the people in charge of the office car pool--"I'm sure one of them has a mini van," as if they were going to lend their car to a stranger.

I waved a hand, as if to say  _go ahead._

<One, this is really weird.> I didn't reply, mostly because he wasn't wrong. But also all of the ways I could think for this to be a trap of some kind--for who, I wasn't even sure--were incredibly convoluted. <Second, can I even leave? I thought that was your whole argument against freeing me in the first place. "You can never go back," or whatever.>

The hallway was empty, so I said, "That's only about going back to your old life. Your face is only known in a very specific circle. Otherwise relocation wouldn't even be a thing that could be offered." I hadn't asked, and I was making it a point of not going digging for why Ben had stayed. I didn't think it mattered now, and respecting people's privacy was, among certain circles, an admirable trait.

<You're going to drive to Colorado by yourself?> Ben asked dryly. His mental "voice" was a lot more emotive than I was used to now. And during the last few weeks we were together, this would have counted as a long conversation for us, probably followed by Ben getting real quiet again for a few days because it wore him out. This was good. This was a good sign. 

In answer to his question, I shrugged. "I'd find a way."

<Uh-huh.> He was quiet for a minute. While the wheels turned for him, I took the opportunity to figure out where we were in relation to where we were going. We seriously needed some signs for directions, honestly. 

Coming to the end of the corridor, I looked each way, trying to remember where we'd come from. When that failed, I dipped back into Ben's memory for a clue. He didn't seem to notice this, or that we'd slipped easily into our old routine. I might have smiled if I wasn't worried it would distract him from his stream of thought.

<How long does it even take to drive there?> Ben asked finally.

"No idea. Gotta look it up." I stopped talking then, because a door off the next hallway opened and someone stepped out. We walked the same way for a while, until I split off, but even then we didn't say anything more until we'd reached the pool. I used one of the interfaces around the pool to search for maps and sure enough, there was not a lot of good news.

<If I drove all night,> I mused, <I could get there and back in two days.>

<Maybe,> Ben conceded.

<There's a pool in Denver.> Ben didn't say anything. <Just a matter of figuring out how to get there, then.> I looked down at the list I still held, then opened the messaging system to send it to myself. I could see where Ben's mind was going, but he'd get there on his own. Or he wouldn't. Turn back now. Or don't.

<You're going to go with or without me.>

<You could save me the trouble of stealing a body,> I offered lightly, as if it were a joke. But let's face it, that was the only way I was getting out of there on short notice.

< _Priton_. Jesus. >

I shrugged. <They probably wouldn't let me come back if I did that. You'd have me out of your hair forever. I guess I can see the appeal.> I signed off the interface and headed toward the drop off pier.

<Coercion is not consent.>

<Yes, I read the bulletins, too.> I stopped at the back of the line, folding my arms over my chest. <I'm not trying to coerce you. If you don't want to come, I can't make you come. You did a nice thing for me, I'm not asking you for anything else. Don't worry about it.>

<Don't worry about it,> Ben echoed. <Right.> There was a silent moment where Ben's mind hummed with annoyance, though he couldn't seem to decide if it was at me or himself. <Can you even drive in snow?>

<Nope.>

<Great. We're probably going to die. Somehow this is almost exactly how I envisioned it.>

I worked to suppress a smile. <Death by car crash?>

<No, death by you doing something stupid for your girlfriend.> Fair enough. <Fine. I'll ask around about the van thing,> Ben said. And then, in a mutter, he added, <Probably better if I do it.>

It was probably best that it was my turn next, or I'd have probably said something to make him change his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter is a good summary of Priton: Vehemently opposed to feelings, occasionally rash, a lover of the grand gesture, and a faulty moral compass.
> 
> Google maps tells me the trip is around 19 hours without pit stops. Have fun, boys. I'm sure it won't be weird and awkward at all.


	25. Logisitics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Full Disclaimer: I have an English degree and the last Biology class I took was at a conservative religious university.
> 
> "Take this with a grain of salt" does not begin to cover it for this chapter.

<I told you there was a reason we have an accounting department.>

<I'll never doubt you again. Now shut up.>

It was two days later. So far, I had learned that the magic words to getting something done were "I need this for an assignment." So far it had gotten us gas money and a car, though we hadn't actually seen the car yet. Ben had struck out with the car rental guy, and the carpool people, but succeeded where, in hindsight, we probably should have started: the abandoned cars of Brain Trust members.

<Are we sure this thing still runs?> We were out on the street--wearing dark glasses and a hat borrowed from Nick. Ben thought it didn't count as borrowing if you didn't ask first, but in my defense, Nick wasn't there at the time for me to ask. I didn't, as Ben suggested, just swipe his stuff because he bothered me.

That morning, Ben had come to the pool, and then we'd headed upstairs to pack. It felt distinctly odd being in his room, despite the fact that I'd been there before. It still felt like I was intruding on somewhere private, which was probably the stupidest thought I'd ever had. A Yeerk worrying about being intrusive sounded like a bad joke.

After pulling Ben's bag out of the corner and tossing it on his bed, I started rifling through his clothes, trying to work out what to bring. I'd packed for California weather, not mountains in February. The heaviest item of clothing Ben had was a sweatshirt that had seen better days. 

<Maybe there's a Salvation Army or something on the way,> Ben offered. I thought it said something about how our relationship had evolved that he resisted pointing out that his lack of appropriate clothing was my fault. He wasn't _wrong_ , but I had actually done the best I could think of at the time.

Clothes packed--I started out packing for three days, and ended up packing it all, because if nothing else at least we'd have layers--I stood in the middle of the cramped room, eyes scanning, searching for the one item that I knew I'd packed but couldn't find on Ben's shelf. 

As I crouched to look under the bed, Ben asked, <What are you looking for?> When I told him, he said, <Oh. You're looking the wrong way,> and drew my attention instead towards the ceiling.

And so, when Nick came in, it was to find that I'd crawled up onto his bunk, with one of ceiling tiles pushed back and my head poked up through the hole I'd created. When I pulled myself out, Nick was looking up at me curiously, apparently unbothered by the fact that I was also clearly holding a dracon beam now. 

"What?" I asked defensively, as if _what_ wasn't obvious.

Instead of answering, Nick grimaced. "Christ, that's creepy."

"What's creepy?" I moved the tile back in place and began carefully descending. 

Nick moved around the bed to retrieve his bandana from his shelf, and then turned to me and gestured at his face. "All this." When I just stared at him, he sighed and said, "Forget it." He turned to leave, saying over his shoulder, "I gotta go to work. Ben, quit bringing home strays."

At least I planned to bring his stuff back.

<Kareem said he goes out and starts it once in awhile,> Ben informed me now as we walked down the street, headed toward a two-story parking garage.

I grimaced. That didn't give me the greatest confidence, but I guess beggars can't be choosers. <What'd he say about finding it? "You'll know it when you see it?" That bodes well.>

<Yeah.>

We spent about twenty minutes walking around the first floor of the garage, trying the keys we'd been given on the doors of any car that looked like it might be the one we were looking for. When that failed, we headed upstairs. The second floor was more sparsely populated with cars, which made it rather easy for an odd one to stick out like a sore thumb.

<That. Is not a van.>

<I think they're actually called microbuses.>

<Are the side mirrors duct taped on?> I walked around it, taking in the two-tone paint job--two distinct shades of brown- _ish--_ the spots of rust and the aforementioned duct tape. When I tried the key, sure enough, the door opened easily. I poked my head inside. Well, there was at least definitely a lot of space in there, so there was that at least. Assuming it was less of a death trap than it looked, it was more or less what we'd wanted. More or less because Jenny hadn't been real clear on the specifics. <Let's hope being inconspicuous isn't important, I guess.>

I climbed in and stuck the key in the ignition. The car started fine enough. I let it idle for a minute or two before shutting off the engine and slipping outside again. <Leave tomorrow? One night to rest and feed so we get the best mileage?>

<Sure.> As I slammed the door shut and locked it, Ben's mind was a little thoughtful. <Do Yeerks sleep? Like, it always seemed like you were up before me.>

I shook my head. I wasn't sure if it was funny or sad that someone who'd lived among Yeerks for this long actually knew so little. <You sleep like the dead,> I pointed out. <But yes, we do. Sort of. We sleep a lot lighter than humans do, though, and less often.> I started heading toward the stairs to leave the garage. <Our natural cycle's still pretty much linked to how it would have been on the home world, where the days are around three times as long as Earth's. Give or take.>

<Huh.> Ben was thoughtful for a moment. <That's--wait.> He laughed. <Are you saying that if you don't eat for _one day,_ you'll die? A human could go almost a month without food.>

We reached the bottom of the stairs and I started out onto the street again. <You'd die of thirst a lot sooner than that without water,> I informed him. <We're essentially an aquatic species. Take an aquatic species out of its habitat, maybe it can survive for a little while, but eventually it'll need to go back.>

<I guess,> Ben said. Then, after a moment, he added, <But you're probably thinking something more along the lines of amphibians than, I don't know, fish.>

I shrugged. <Maybe. It's not a one to one analogy regardless.> I paused at the curb, glancing down and away as a car passed. <Besides, remember that a human's got a lot more fat to draw from for energy than a Yeerk does. And being outside the pool causes a lot of stress on our bodies.> That, and trying to control a whole other body that was a thousand times bigger than your own.

Ben went quiet again while I crossed the road back to HQ. There was a second entrance, around the side, on the side of the building that was farthest from the road. There was a heavy metal door back where we kept the dumpster, which didn't make it the most  _pleasant_ spot, but if you didn't want to go through the front for some reason, it was good enough. I liked it because it was easier to get to the elevator from there, without having to go through the whole of the first floor. Inside, there was a vestibule like the one in the front, with another door and a security camera and the Gleet Biofilter, but this one had a keypad instead of an intercom.

<If the Yeerk's awake,> Ben asked after a bit, <and the host isn't, can they still, you know, move?>

I thought about this for a moment, before answering, <I mean. I guess, if they really had to, they could do something. But trying to move an unconscious host is like trying to drive a semi-truck through a vat of molasses. If it's possible to wake them up, it's a hell of a lot easier to just do that.> We had reached the door, and I listened to the welcoming beep as the lock disengaged. <So yes, we are both going to have to stay awake that whole drive.>

<Figures.> He didn't sound especially disappointed, at least.


	26. Roadtrip

We started relatively strong, at least. We found a thrift shop that miraculously had a coat we could buy, even if it was two sizes too big for Ben and probably not warm enough on its own. I stuffed it next to our bag in the van--we were just going to keep calling it that, I guess--and we were on our way.

We didn't talk much for awhile, except to comment on the radio stations.

<When did you start listening to country?>

"I do occasionally cultivate interests outside of what I feel like telling you about."

Or.

"But you _hate_ rap."

<If you can suddenly like country, I can like _one_ rap song. >

And so on, but mostly we were quiet. Both our minds inevitably traveled to where we were headed, though Ben's thoughts steered towards me and his apparent surprise that I would go to such lengths for anyone or anything. It wasn't exactly an unfair character evaluation that he was making, but it did strike me, not for the first time, that if my liking of Ben when I knew him better than anyone else ever could said something good about him, then what did it what Ben think say about me, when he knew me as well as anyone would probably ever be allowed to?

I leaned back against the headrest and let out a long sigh. "I'd do this for you, too."

Ben absorbed that for a moment before saying, <What happened to you pretending you can't read my thoughts unless I direct them at you?>

"I'm tired," I said, truthfully. "And you're not an idiot."

Ben stewed over that for a while before saying, <Jenny said you miss me.>

"Yes."

<That is really weird, Priton. How do you not think that's weird?>

"I don't know if you've noticed, Ben, but we left normal behind a long time ago."

<Yeah but-->

"I swear to God, if you say 'I'm not gay,' I'm abandoning you in Denver." I was joking. Mostly.

<That's not what I was going to say,> Ben said, sounding exasperated.  _We literally just said we weren't doing this._ <I was going to say you're an  _alien._ A literal alien. Another species. From outer space. You come from a whole other planet. This is _weird_. >

I crooked a smile, despite myself. "Technically, I was born in space. I'm only as 'from another planet' as you are 'from' the places your ancestors originated."

<You know what I mean.>

"It's an interesting thought, though," I said. "Did you know there are already Yeerks who have been born on Earth? Eventually, they'll outnumber those of us who were born off-world. Would we still count as aliens, then, I wonder, or just an invasive species?"

<Priton.>

"How long does it take for an invasive species to be considered native? The change has to happen eventually, right? Otherwise humans would be classified that way on most of the planet."

< _Priton._ >

I sighed. "What do you want me to say, Ben? I can't change how weird this is for you."

<Hmm.> Somehow it made me feel better that Ben was uncomfortable. Misery loves company, as the saying goes. Why do humans have so many sayings? <How is this not weird to you?>

I snorted. "Everything about human relationships is a foreign concept to me," I said. "Humans claim you mate for life, but then your divorce rate is over fifty percent, and there's theoretically no limit to the number of partners you can have over the course of a lifetime." I shook my head. "Do you even know what the words you people use mean or do you just use them because they sound nice?"

<Well, what do Yeerks do that's so much better?>

I laughed. "We mate once. And the process literally kills us. I never said it was better."

We fell into silence again after that. It wasn't quite like rejection, and it wasn't quite like anything else, either, which was fine. I wasn't looking for anything more than what I'd gotten.

We didn't speak again until we passed the border, greeted by a "Welcome to Nevada!" sign. <I've never been outside of California before,> Ben mused.

"Neither have I." The sun was setting behind us. It felt like we'd been driving forever and there was still such a long way to go.

<What, really?>

"Yes, really," I said. "I don't think the five minutes I got to see of the pool ship should count." It had mostly just been a lot of metal and the pool itself, anyway. "Earth is the first and only planet I've seen."

<Ah.> Ben's tone seemed to say  _well, that explains everything, then._ And I guess it did.

There was not much to keep us occupied during the long, interminable drive. We listened to the radio when we could get a decent enough station. I tried to stretch our legs when we'd stop for gas, because after so many hours cooped up in the van, Ben's body was exhausted and cramped. We drifted in and out of conversation. There was palpable relief when we finally saw the sun starting to rise over the horizon. We still had ages to go then, but somehow we survived through the night--it felt like an accomplishment.

By the time we'd been on the road for twenty hours, we felt like death warmed over--and looked like it to, from the brief glimpse I caught of our reflection in the van door during our last stop for gas. Jenny had directed us to a store where she would wait for us, near the entrance of the state park. I drove around for awhile before I found what I thought must be the correct place, but the shop was closed and no one was waiting out front. Of course, Jenny didn't know when we were coming. I wondered how much time she'd already spent there.

With nothing else to do, I parked the van and contemplated the merits of taking a nap. My hands were shaking now that they didn't have their death grip on the steering wheel. I tried to still them, but I was as skilled at controlling a body's involuntary actions as a human was. 

Despite my best efforts, we seemed to have dozed off because I suddenly jerked awake, blinking through the windshield at the light snow that had started to fall. Groaning, I unhooked my seat belt and twisted around to retrieve the coat we'd brought. It was somehow simultaneously too light to keep us warm when we were outside, and too heavy to be worn inside. Pulling my arms through the sleeves I thought, cold or not, it might do us some good to move around.

As I climbed down from the van, however, I stopped half-way because there, on the road that led into the park, was a familiar figure coming towards us. Feeling like my heart was suddenly thundering in my chest, I descended the rest of the way and started towards her, but stopped after a few steps to watch instead. She hadn't seen us yet, her head was tilted down against the wind. I waited as she got closer. And then she looked up.

I stayed perfectly still where I stood, unsure of the reaction to expect, but then Jenny smiled a crooked little half smile. "Of course."


	27. Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: References to murder and vomiting.

"Are you sure you don't want me to drive?"

"We're fine." We really were not fine, and from the way Jenny's lips pursed into a thin line, I was fairly sure she could tell, but she didn't say anything more about it. We climbed back into the van, and she directed me where to go. As I started up the engine, I said, "You're not listed as missing anywhere."

"No." Jenny was looking out her window rather than at me. "My parents think I'm at home." Apparently sensing my skepticism, she added, "I don't call them nearly as often as I did before you." I steadfastly refused to feel bad about that. A visit with her family was what got us here in the first place. "And I told Gena I needed some time away."

I raised an eyebrow. "And she believed you?"

"I have no idea, I got her voicemail."

"Work?" Jenny didn't say anything. I blew out a long breath. "Fantastic. I've always wanted to be homeless and jobless." Exhaustion was making me cranky. Well, crankier. "Where did I go so wrong in life?" I asked dramatically, then looked at Jenny, who was now giving me a _look._ "Never mind. Where are we going?"

"Take a left here." I obliged but said nothing, knowing she had to know that wasn't what I meant. "I told you I was working up here," Jenny said at last. "And that's the truth." I could feel her looking at me now, but I was staring at the road. "I, umm, found a family. Of escaped hosts."

"Escaped hosts," I repeated, incredulous. It's not that such a thing was impossible, just very, very improbable. "You found a whole family of ex-hosts... what? Living in the woods?"

"Sort of." Jenny sounded distinctly uncomfortable suddenly. "They're not all former hosts and... well, I think you'll see."

I tried not to show how paranoid this whole thing was making me feel, but honestly, paranoia was good. Paranoia kept you alive.

Eventually, Jenny told me to park, and then she led me on a hike through the trees. I had no idea how she was finding her way, honestly, as it all looked the same to me. "Did you walk all that way to wait?" It hadn't been a very long drive, but it seemed like a long way on foot. 

"No, there's a shuttle that leaves from the ranger's station up that way," Jenny said, pointing east. I thought it was east, anyway. We walked on for awhile until finally the trees opened up to a clearing, revealing a cabin. It wasn't much to look at, honestly. It was not the sort of place I'd have gone to hide, personally. It screamed "someone lives here." There were lacy curtains in the windows, the kind that didn't really hide anything. I glanced at Jenny. "I know. Come on."

I followed her to the door, where she knocked. I saw the curtain in the window shudder, and then the sound of locks turning. When the door creaked open, it was to reveal a woman who looked like she was in her forties. She peered out at us, eyes lingering on me, and I tried to look as unthreatening as I could.

"Hi Janet," Jenny said. "This is Priton, the friend I told you about. The one who's here to get us out of here."

Janet was still staring at me, her eyes narrowed. I shifted uncomfortably. "Are you one of the good guys?" she finally asked.

"No." My answer, immediate and unwavering, seemed to take them both by surprise. I waved my finger back and forth between Jenny and I--or rather, Ben. "But they are, and I go where they go."

It was hard to say if Janet accepted this answer or if she just decided that if we meant her and her family harm, they were screwed anyway. Either way, she let us inside.

The cabin was not much to look at. There was a living room and a kitchen, and a ladder leading up to a loft. There wasn't a lot of furniture, at least in the main area. A couch, a chair, a table set. There was an air mattress in the corner. And four humans. Jenny introduced me to Janet's husband, Alex, and their sons, Will and John, who looked like they were about the same age as my old students, maybe a little younger. I only looked at them for a moment, though, before looking away. The younger one, John, had that easily recognizable look of a recently freed involuntary--that blank, unsettling expression. I looked instead at Alex, who still had a somewhat indecipherable expression, but somehow it was  _less so._

"You from this Brain Trust place?" he asked me. "You can help us?"

"That's my job, ostensibly." I glanced at Jenny, who looked distinctly uncomfortable for a reason I couldn't fathom yet. Turning back to the family, I asked, "How exactly do four humans just  _escape?"_ I didn't mean to sound as incredulous as I did, but I couldn't help myself. My first impression, before even talking to them, was that these people couldn't be very smart. We weren't nearly far enough in the woods to be lost forever, for one thing.

"We had some help," Alex said. He looked at one of the boys, who got up and went into the kitchen. I didn't see which one, focused as I was on not looking at them. "There used to be six of us."

"Fine, how do  _six_ humans escape." That sounded even less likely.

"No, you don't understand. John, show him." Alex gestured for his son to move forward and I was forced to turn and look at the disturbingly blank-faced boy again. He'd returned from the kitchen, and was holding a mason jar out to me.

I took an immediate, instinctive step back, feeling the blood drain from my face. They were smaller than they ever ought to be, dried and shriveled, but unmistakably still Yeerks. Two very dead Yeerks. "What happened?" I was too busy trying not to be sick to care that my voice shook.

"My Yeerk helped us get out," Alex said. "We... We didn't see eye to eye at first, but eventually we became friends and..." He looked around at his family. "He helped us get out." There was a pause, and when he spoke again, his voice was too flat for me to decipher the emotion behind it. "It took more than three days to figure out what to do from there."

I could imagine no scenario in the universe that would ever induce me to starve for someone. "What happened to the other one?"

Alex glanced again at his son, then back at me. "He was... less cooperative."

I was definitely going to be sick. I turned on my heel and ripped open the door. I heard Jenny make an excuse for me as I speed-walked into the snow. I didn't hear what she said. I didn't care. I had the immediate need to get away from these people who didn't seem to understand that they'd committed actual murder. I don't know that it would have bothered me nearly as much if it had been via any other method but, God, at least if you were going to kill someone, make it quick.

I threw up in the trees behind the cabin. All we'd eaten since leaving HQ had been a bag of doritos and a coke. I stared down at the unnaturally orange mess I'd made in the snow, then turned away to see Jenny coming towards me. I stood very still. Or tried to, at least, as I was trembling now from a mixture of the cold, inhabiting a body that had been awake for nearly twenty-four hours, and pure visceral horror.

Jenny came to a stop a few feet in front of me, clearly unsure if it was all right to come any closer than that. "I'm sorry," she said. I didn't say anything. Jenny continued, "It had all already happened before I got here, there was nothing I could have done."

She was clearly waiting for a reply, so I said, "I believe you."

"Are you angry that I dragged you out here?"

"No." I  _was_ angry, but I didn't think there was anything she could do for it. It would pass.

Jenny looked unsure, but rather than question me on it, she looked over her shoulder, back at the cabin. "We can't just leave them here."

"No," I agreed. It was a small miracle they'd survived this long, frankly. "Is that their cabin? Like, do they own it?"

"Alex said it's his brother-in-law's." That wasn't much better. Looking back at me, Jenny asked, "Do you still want to help them?"

The answer was emphatically no, but there weren't any better options presenting themselves at the moment. FInally, I said, "We can leave tomorrow." Jenny watched me for a second longer, then nodded. As we started making our way back to the house, however, I reached out a hand to stop her. "Jenny? Promise me something."

She turned back to me. "Of course."

"Don't let me starve." I said this with an earnestness that I'm sure neither she nor Ben had ever heard me use before.

"Priton, no one's going to--"

But I was shaking my head. Death by kandrona starvation was probably the most common way to go for a traitor, and I had surely done enough by now to earn that title in the eyes of whoever decided those things. Joining a rebel organization, host sympathizing--and worse--add aiding escaped hosts to the mix, why not? If it came down to it, I'd happily take a thousand quick, relatively painless deaths instead.

"Okay," Jenny finally said. "I promise."

<Well,> Ben said as we started back. <This trip has certainly been illuminating.>

Yeah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are actually nearing the end. I hesitate to put an end chapter number because I have so grossly underestimated how much I was going to write, literally this entire time.
> 
> I very much doubt this will be the last we see of Priton/Jenny/Ben. I mean, I'll probably write them until I stop writing fanfiction period, but I've still got Brain Trust things to write.


	28. Home

When we got back, Jenny insisted that I go to bed immediately. I didn't protest and let her pull me towards the air mattress in the corner. By now, I was too exhausted to think straight, and I didn't want to. I did not want to think about where I was, or who I was with, or about the fact that it was still broad daylight out. Instead, I collapsed onto the bed. We must have fallen asleep soon after--I had the vague, dreamlike memory of a blanket being laid over me, and then nothing.

I resurfaced first--Ben was right, I _did_ always wake first, those times when our sleep cycles aligned--and I opened my eyes to stare at the ceiling. It was dark now, but the sort of lightening dark of dawn. I could hear someone breathing nearby, but opening my eyes was the extent of what I could do without rousing Ben first, so I couldn't turn my head to see them. I thought everyone was probably asleep--I could hear someone snoring in the loft overhead. Otherwise all was quiet. A peaceful contrast to the day before. Had it been yesterday? How long had I been asleep? I had no way of knowing, but I decided to accept the fact that I'd woken up at all as a good sign and leave it at that for now.

After awhile, I heard and felt the other person there move around. "Priton?" Jenny's face appeared above me. "Are you awake?"

I closed my eyes--not really as an answer, but because it was odd to stare at someone when you couldn't respond to them--and said, in my head, <Ben.> There was no response. His brain had wandered into dreams since I'd woken up. Dreams are weird to watch as a cognizant observer. They're all like badly written TV shows, where the plot makes no sense and the actors get recast over and over again in different roles. And when you get to watch someone else's subconcious for eight hours a night, every night, you get to see just how often  _you_ get cast the villain. Not today. <Ben!> Louder this time, with a sort of mental shove that was, essentially, me trying to take back control. Such as it was.

<What?> Ben grumbled, finally.

Good enough. I opened my eyes again and this time turned my head to look at Jenny. 

Jenny settled down beside me, holding herself up on her elbows. "It's so weird that you sleep with your eyes open."

"I don't."

She gestured vaguely. "You know what I'm trying to say." I shrugged. Jenny craned her neck to look up and away from me, maybe to see into the loft, though it was impossible to see anything at this angle. "I know you want to get out of here as soon as we can, but I think it'll take time to get their stuff together. They don't have much, but you know."

I closed my eyes, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of my nose. "Right. Okay." It was hard to remember to consider other people, frankly. "I should go to Denver before we leave." It was about an hour's drive, but not really in the right direction. 

"When did you feed last?"

"Sunday? What day is it?"

"Tuesday." Jenny made a thoughtful sound, maybe trying to do the math. "We could probably make it if we had to." I was already shaking my head. "Yeah I guess not. Do you want me to come with you?"

I hesitated. <Don't yell at me,> I said to Ben. To Jenny, I said, "I don't know that I want to add the stress of switching to right now. And..." I opened my eyes and pushed myself up on my elbows to look toward the kitchen, where the mason jar grave was still stashed. We were not taking it with us. I was hearing no argument on that. "I don't know. I'd feel funny leaving Ben with random strangers. At least you know them."

<Okay.>

 I smiled, briefly, because I couldn't help myself, then pushed up into a proper sitting position. I was still wearing the same clothes that Ben had put on two days earlier, which was gross, but when I thought of changing I remembered that all the clothes I'd brought with us were still in the van. Which I didn't know how to get back to. "You might have to help me find where we parked again, though." 

* * *

 

On the one hand, the drive back was better because we had company, and an extra driver. Ben got to nap a little when it was Jenny's turn to drive, and there was more leg room in the passenger seat. On the other hand, we had four passengers to tow along with us, none of whom seemed to understand concepts like how they  _shouldn't_ lean forward between the front seats, and how they should instead work on being as invisible as possible. Especially while we were still in Colorado. It would have been nice, probably, to have a couple extra drivers, but we were woefully unprepared for  _hiding,_ and anything more overt than what we were doing seemed to tread a little too close to flaunting what we were doing.

It seemed like the journey back took longer than the drive there. By the time we finally rolled into HQ's parking lot I was exhausted again. It didn't even matter that I wouldn't normally need to sleep that much. Ben was tired, and we both needed to recharge after this adventure. 

I parked the van and Jenny climbed out to shepherd the nervous family inside. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes to wait. Ben didn't feel like talking now, so I did my best to tune him out. Soon, though, the passenger door was opening again, and Jenny was getting back in the van. I sat up straighter to turn to her. "That was quick."

"Yeah, I left them to whoever's on duty right now," Jenny said as she settled in. "So... are we going to talk about what's happening here?"

"Ben offered to help temporarily," I said, shrugging. "We... had a very awkward drive to get you. I think we're both happy to change things back." I hesitated, then added, less sure, "Assuming that's what you want."

"Of course," Jenny replied, as if there were no other possibility. "I missed you." 

Instead of responding, I pretended to be very busy restarting the engine and began pulling out of our parking space, intending to take the van back to the garage.

When Jenny spoke again, I could swear I heard her smiling. "You are so easy to fluster, considering you started it," she said, sounding amused. "I was _going_ to say that it's good to see you both." I grunted noncommittally. She seemed happy with whatever she interpreted that to mean, at least.

I drove us back to the garage and parked. I pocketed the keys so Ben could give them back to Kareem and left the van. "Come here," I said to Jenny, holding out my arms, as if for a hug, though I thought she probably knew what I was after instead. Jenny came around to the driver's side and stood in front of me. I waited a moment too long, in case anyone wanted to protest, and then, as gently as I was capable of, I took Jenny's face in my hands and turned our heads so that our ears could press together.

Though it was probably the most expedient way to switch hosts, it was undoubtedly the strangest method. There was that brief moment, stretched between them, when I could feel both their minds at the same time. It's difficult, I think, to tell aliens apart most of the time. Unless they have very obvious characteristic differences, like a missing limb, it took a lot of immersion to tell them apart. I knew for a fact that humans couldn't tell Yeerks apart--and, to be fair, neither could we if we had to by sight--so surely there was no shame in admitting that. We relied on the human brain to distinguish other humans, and I assumed other host species were the same. But that said, there was never any mistaking one mind for another. Some things were obvious, of course--personalities and attitudes varied so widely--and some things were so subtle I didn't know the name for them. Some of it, too, was what I brought along with me, intentionally or not. 

When I was fully inside Jenny again, Ben let go of us, and I turned to him. "Thank you, Ben." He nodded, and I wondered if he understood I meant it from both of us.


	29. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hi Ben.
> 
> I didn't plan on this chapter, but then I wrote chapter 30 and realized it wasn't going to work as is.

_**Ben** _

I left Priton and Jenny in the garage, and headed home. I went upstairs first, to return Kareem's keys, but neither he nor Jason answered their door, so I slid the keys under it, as best I could. When I went back downstairs, I used the stairs instead of the elevator. For reasons I couldn't explain, I needed to feel the Earth moving with me under my feet. I knew we were spinning through space all the time, but I needed to illusion. I needed to feel like a hamster in a wheel, making everything move with me.

When you're a Controller, nothing feels right. It's like your whole body's been wrapped in cotton wool. You forget what things feel like when they're not pressing into your skin. Maybe that's why involuntaries take so long to re-assimilate. Nothing feels like we're used to anymore. Sometimes I thought that if I could touch a hot stove, I'd press my hands into it, just for the sensation of burning heat, of pain. Real pain, not the dull, faded kind when a Yeerk stubs your toe or pulls one of your muscles. Priton used to complain about how I slept, how it was so hard to rouse me. I was always like that. I used to tune my clock radio to a station I didn't like, and turn the volume way up and place it as close to my bed as possible, so that in the morning the alarm would go off, loud and insistent and unavoidable. Priton would complain, because he liked to, and because when he tried to change my set-up, we kept waking up late. What I didn't say, but he must have known anyway, was that there was something freeing about sleeping. I wasn't in control, sure, but he was as imprisoned in my body as I was for those few hours.

I asked Ravel, Nick's Yeerk, once, and they told me it was similar for Yeerks when they relinquished control. At the time, I hadn't wanted to think about anything involving my time as Priton's host, but now I wondered if it had been like that for him, that one time when he'd given me free reign.

As I went down the stairs, I stretched my arms out to run them along both bannisters. I almost tripped several times, going too fast, but I kept going. When I reached the bottom, my hands were warm from the friction against the uneven paint of the bars. I held them in front of my face to observe their redness, and the little purple bruise streaks where I'd pressed too hard. I stood there until my breathing slowed. 

It had been a long three days. It hadn't been like before. There was a subtle difference, I guess, between being a voluntary controller and being an involuntary one. Priton was still frustratingly...  _Priton,_ but a lot of the old resentment had faded through separation. Separation and Priton's tenacity. I had spent a lot of time trying to work out what he was doing. He said he wanted to know if I was okay, which might have been true, because he'd always seemed to think that I would fall apart without him. Maybe I put up with him now because I wanted him to see that I was fine. Being free was indescribable. It was exhausting. Sometimes I caught myself missing the simplicity of having someone else do things for me. The moments made me feel insane, especially when there was so little I _needed_ to do anyway, at least now that I spent all my days inside HQ. Who knows what would have happened if I'd left.

Regardless, I didn't know how to explain the last few days, even to myself. I could justify letting Priton back into my head when it was to help Jenny. I liked Jenny. I had always liked Jenny. I'd thought she was a little crazy, granted, but I still liked her. She needed help, and she needed Priton, and no one else would take him on. It had to be me. It was me or it was no one.

And then I'd gone to Colorado because I knew Priton, and lazy bastard though he was, when he decided to actually do something, he did it. If I didn't go with him, someone else would, and probably not half as willingly.

I told myself I was doing it for other people. I was being noble. 

It was complicated.

I made my way to my cubbyhole of a room to find it empty. I remembered, too late, that I'd left my bag in the van. I would have to go back for it. Later. I fell onto my bed, feeling like the energy was draining from me. I closed my eyes, laying an arm across my face. Dealing with Priton had never stopped being a headache, but it seemed to have a different flavor to it these days. I wanted to keep hating him, and then he'd do something kind--or kind for Priton, anyway, which was not always the same thing--or he'd take my feelings into account for something, and I didn't know what to do with that. I felt like an abuse victim who went back to their abuser insisting they'd "changed." Even that felt more complicated than it should be. 

I lifted my arm off my face and opened my eyes. I held my hand up and slowly closed and opened my fist, over and over again, watching the muscles in my palm and fingers contract. There was something calming, at least, about being able to do this one simple thing for myself. It was a complicated comfort, but so was everything.

 


	30. Possibilities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eBay was apparently founded in 1995. The things I've learned while writing this, honestly.

Gena was not pleased when we returned, nor was she pleased when I told her I was only there for my stuff. I tried to be nice and smoothe things over. Hopefully I was successful. I didn't want Jenny to feel as though she had to give up a lifelong friendship. I had buried feelings about Ben's family situation as deep as they would go, and they still cropped up sometimes when I let my guard down. I didn't need that twice over. At least Gena seemed mollified when I suggested she just have Trinity move in. She could even have our furniture, which sounded like a nice gesture, since Trin was coming from her parents' house and had minimal furniture of her own, but really, it was so we'd have less to throw out.

<Maybe we can sell some of it on eBay,> Jenny offered, unhelpfully. We had nowhere to keep any of it in the meantime.

The bright side of everything, I guess, was that Brain Trust never seemed to turn anyone away. Nick had said that they followed recruits around because they needed to weed out undesirables, but I didn't actually know how often that happened. Maybe the recruits I assumed changed their minds didn't join for a different reason. Who knew?

It made sense that the housing office was mostly run by humans, as they dealt mostly with humans. Housing for unhosted Yeerks hardly needed a whole office dedicated to it. What amused me, personally, though, was that one of the humans working in the office was one of the top floor's only two permanent residents.

Jason, the human in question, sat down in front of me and flipped through my file with an increasingly worried expression--I caught brief glimpses of things written there, including "argumentative" and "talks to himself frequently," which I had to tell Ben about immediately--and I studied him. He had bleached blonde hair and dark, tanned skin, making him look like a beach bum, except that he was also short--shorter than Jenny, who was about average for a woman--chubby, and had thick glasses on. When he finally looked up at me, it was with a frown. "Are you looking to stay, or do you want to relocate?"

I shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I'd rather not go far, though."

This apparently wasn't a helpful answer, because Jason went back to flipping through my file, and consulting what looked like a map on his computer. Finally, he said, "It's going to take a couple days to work something out. Can you handle staying in temp housing till then?"

I had the feeling he was asking if I was going to scare all the ex-hosts up there, which was amusing to me. "I don't bite." I leaned over the desk to try to see what he was looking at on his screen properly, but getting closer didn't make it make any more sense. "What are you trying to do, find someone who can put up with me?"

"No," he said, tapping away at his keyboard. "Some people don't want a Yeerk roommate. Some people don't want to room with someone who's of a different gender than them." More tapping. "Just needs some rearranging. We'll... work it out." I wondered how much effort it must have taken to find places for all of us. From the beleaguered look on the man's face, probably a lot. "Are you allergic to cats?" he asked suddenly.

"Er... I don't think so?" That was a worrying question. "Are we allowed pets?" Jason just gave me a harried look, and I decided it might be a bad time to ask. I rose from my seat. "Clearly you're busy," I said. "I'll come back later. Just tell me where to go for now."

Armed with directions to a room to stay in, I left the housing office and headed for the nearest stairwell. I had never been upstairs, of course, and I'd avoided that part of Ben's memory when I was inside him since it was wrapped up with things I didn't want to know about.

Like the main floor, the second floor was mostly white and grey. I'd become accustomed to HQ's obsession with monochrome by now. For variety, B1's retractable "walls" were beige. I supposed if it all looked exactly the same, no one could complain if they got switched to a room that didn't look the way they liked it. Better that everyone be equally unhappy.

 The top floor was more sparsely populated, as you'd probably expect. We didn't need as much space up there, which made me wonder why we didn't solve our housing problems by just expanding upward. Maybe things hadn't gotten that desperate yet, but I had a feeling we were getting close.

The room was bigger than I expected, with real walls and a standalone bed. I didn't know if there were other configurations in other rooms, but this one was fairly simple. There was a shelf like the one in Ben's room, but I could stand in the center of the room without touching a wall or a piece of furniture. It felt like a hotel room, except it didn't have a window. It was still small, smaller than any bedroom I'd ever had, even Ben's which had only been big enough to fit a double bed. Even so, it was as big as we were likely to get, and that was enough.

There wasn't much to do upstairs, so we dropped the stuff we'd managed to gather from the apartment and headed downstairs. again. We'd had to catch a ride into the city to get our things, because in my exhaustion I had apparently forgotten we needed transportation. At least we'd been able to get Jenny's car from where she'd left it at home. There was a lot more freedom when you weren't on the run. It meant we were taking up valuable real estate, of course, but I was selfish by nature, and I did not care so long as I got what I needed anyway.

I found the place where the elevator let off on the top floor and took it down to B2. I wasn't trying to find him specifically, I only wanted to go where the activity was. We'd find ways to occupy our time later, but for now this was the place to go.

I didn't mean to find him, but when I got out into the pool area, he was at one of the interfaces, scrolling through what I saw was a news website as I approached. He didn't seem to be looking for anything in particular. Trying to keep up with the outside world, maybe. None of it was real anyway and none of it mattered. He didn't look up as I sidled up next to him, but I knew now that that didn't mean he didn't notice me.

"Don't yell at me."

Ben sighed. His expression had returned to the blankness I was used to now, which I didn't want to admit made me sad. It was better, but it still felt like the damage healed much, much slower than it was inflicted. Suddenly Nick's comment about being creepy made a lot of sense to me. 

"You know I'm not going to yell at you," Ben said. "You don't have to keep saying that every time. You make me sound like a psycho."

"Okay." Ben sighed again. "I thought you'd get a kick out of this. Apparently they've got 'talks to himself frequently' written in my file."

Ben's face didn't change, but he turned his head to look at me finally, and I thought I heard something wry in his tone as he said, "I told you that was going to happen one of these days." Then he turned back to the interface, closed what he'd been looking at, and turned away. I followed him as he headed towards the elevator. "Are you staying?" he asked.

"Don't know," I said, truthfully. "They're trying to find room for me. I think they're worried I'm too much for someone to handle."

"Yes."

I smiled. I wasn't sure if he was agreeing that that was what they probably thought, or that it was what they _should_ think. Maybe a little of both. 

We stopped in front of the elevator, where a small group of people were waiting. When the doors opened, I expected Ben to get on, but instead he waited until the doors closed again behind the group, and then turned to me. "If you decide to stay," he said slowly, like he was thinking through each word before he said it, "we should... talk."

Something about the way he said it suddenly made my heart pound. "Okay."

"I'm not promising anything," Ben informed me. "Just. You know." He gestured weakly. "There's still a lot of shit," he said finally. "But you've been in my head. You know."

I didn't say anything. Never go digging for what you want to find in someone else's brain. Not when it was so hard to distinguish what you wanted to see from reality. 

Ben soldiered on. "Maybe it's the stockholm syndrome finally kicking in."

I laughed, an unsteady bark of a laugh. "Ben, I promise, you are so very far from having stockholm syndrome."

He almost smiled. "If you want to," he said.

I hesitated, waited. 

<Yes.>

"Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that this is probably a strange place to stop--there are so many things still to do with this--but I set out, mostly to do a character study of Priton, and because, after 15+ years of writing them together, I realized Priton was in love with Ben and I wanted to figure out how that happened. Jenny I'd already figured out. The rest left to talk about is why this is only Part 1--the way I ramble and meander, we'd be here for 100 chapters.
> 
> I'd like to thank everyone who left kudos and comments--especially [Purrs](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Purrs), because I see you commenting on every chapter and it gives me motivation--you are all my favorite. Especially when you ask questions or point things out that I miss, because oh my God, let's not talk about the mess I'd have created without you. I seem to have a 2000 word limit to my attention span, so thank you for sticking it out with me for the 30 chapters it took to say all this.
> 
> I'd also like to thank my friend, Kyra (hi Kyra, I know you read this) for listening to me talk, nonstop, about these goobers for months. And letting me talk about Priton like he was my precious, if wayward, child in the same breath as I described all of the reasons why he is genuinely a terrible person, and reading my novel-length e-mails on headcanons and character stuff. Also for telling me that Ben didn't have a paying job at the beginning of this story. Oops.
> 
> Fun fact: The greatest struggle of writing People Like Us--aside from plotting, which is a lifelong struggle--was realizing how very ubiquitous the word "sorry" is, especially when writing a character who refuses to use it in any context. I didn't realize how casually I used it until I suddenly couldn't use it at all.


End file.
